


Your Wish Is My Release

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Quest VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishmahri finally meets a wish he can't grant when the Dragovian Lord visits the Moonshadow Realm.  Ishmahri is torn between his sense of propriety and his feelings for the Dragovian, but he also has an injured Marcello on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As far as I know, the Dragovian Lord doesn't have a name in the game, so I chose the name Tatsuya.

Ishmahri sighed and sank down onto his stool, flexing his aching, harp-calloused fingers.  Very few people found their way to the Moonshadow Realm, and the wishes of those who did were usually pleasant. . . though often a little selfish.  The elf couldn't have counted the number of times he had been asked for money or power or fame.  None of these were things he could grant, of course; his harp could only bring forth memories.  Yet Ishmahri was skilled at using those memories to soothe the desires of his visitors.

Tonight, though, he was afraid he had failed.

Ishmahri's visitor that evening had arrived early, just after the full moon reached its zenith.  He was a fairly young man with hair the color of the black sky over the Moonshadow Realm and eyes of a vivid green.  In fact, he could have been thought handsome if he hadn't been scowling as he trod the pathway marked with moon phases, up to temple where Ishmahri waited with the Moonshadow Harp.

The elf had studied his visitor closely through the temple's shifting walls as the human approached on the pathway suspended over open space.  The rather tattered clothing he was wearing marked him as a Templar, yet he wore no ring to confirm this status.  He looked jarring and out of place surrounded by Ishmahri's peaceful world: there was nothing graceful about him, and he clashed with the waterfalls and gently shifting lights around him.  When the human entered the temple, he had glared at Ishmahri with exhausted, challenging eyes, unspeaking.

"Yes, my child?" Ishmahri had asked, drifting towards him a bit.  "What is your wish?"

"Peace," the man had all but snarled.  "I wish to be at peace.  They say you can grant any wish-- but I don't believe even _you_ can grant me that."

"Hmm."  Ishmahri had looked into the human's hard eyes for a moment before mentally approaching his thoughts.  The pain Ishmahri found there was far greater than what the human's eyes conveyed, and it took all of Ishmahri's strength not to physically recoil from him.  The visitor had led a tortured life, had done terrible things-- but he did truly repent of them.  There _was_ that.

"Only you can grant yourself the peace you seek," Ishmahri told him.  "But perhaps my harp can start you on that journey."  The elf began to stroke the strings of his harp, trusting the Moonshadow Harp to select the memories that would most soothe his visitor.  As Ishmahri played, the vision of a handsome platinum-haired boy appeared, brought to life from the other man's memories.  The vision was familiar, and Ishmahri realized with a start that he had met the young man before.

"Angelo?" the visitor snapped.  "Why do you show me _him_?  He's the _cause_ of my troubles."

"Then perhaps," Ishmahri whispered, hiding his own curiosity at how the two were connected, "he is also the first step to their end."  The visitor gave Ishmahri a stony look, yet after a moment he took a step towards the vision, who smiled at him and reached out a hand.

"Marcello," the dream-Angelo said warmly.  Ishmahri watched with interest, knowing that the vision was responding to Marcello's subconscious thoughts and wishes.

"You're not real," Marcello spat, though he moved to stand beside the vision none-the-less.  It did not reply at first; apparently Marcello, who subconsciously controlled the memory-vision he now saw, was unsure whether he wanted Angelo to speak or not.

Ishmahri did know, however. _He needs this vision to speak._   The elf's own delicate lips formed words, but they were spoken by Angelo.

"I am as real as you need me to be," the vision said.  "If there is something you wish to say to me-- say it now."

Marcello's mouth worked as he stared at the vision, then he clutched its hand with a force that probably would have hurt a real person.

"I'm sorry," Marcello snarled in a tone so harsh, it hid any emotion he felt.  "I never want to see you again, but dammit, I'm _sorry_."

This time Ishmahri did not have to make the vision speak; Marcello's subconscious did it for him, and the memory-Angelo reacted as the other man wanted him to do.

"My whole life, you _never_ wanted to see me," the vision murmured.  "But I wanted to be with you!  No matter how you treated me, I still loved you, Marcello!"

Ishmahri wondered what the _real_ Angelo would have to say about that, but the words were what Marcello wanted to hear.  His hands moved to rest, trembling, on the vision's shoulders, then he drew the younger man to him in a tight, almost violent embrace.

"I love you too," Marcello hissed through clenched teeth.  "Damn me to hell, I love you too."  Ishmahri's fingers stumbled over his harp strings when Marcello crushed the vision's mouth to his.

 _Oh, Goddess._   Ishmahri felt his cheeks color, and he looked away with the feeling that he was intruding on something very private.  He still wondered how the two knew each other, but he didn't look into Marcello's mind to find out.  It would be an invasion of Marcello's privacy-- and anyway, Ishmahri wasn't sure he wanted to know.  
  
When Ishmahri risked another look at his visitor, Marcello was shoving Angelo away from him.  Ishmahri stilled his fingers with some relief, and the vision faded as his harp fell silent.  The visitor stood turned away from him, shoulders hunched and heaving as if he were seething with anger.  But the words he muttered to Ishmahri were "Thank you."

"Marcello--" Ishmahri began out of pity, wishing he could do more to soothe the human's torment.  However, Marcello ignored him, stalking to the temple's door and letting it slam behind him.  Ishmahri peeked out of the temple wall again to watch the human walk down the pathway, back to the open window leading to his own world.

\--

And now Ishmahri was alone.  He tilted his head back, feeling his long blue hair cascade off his shoulders and brush the floor.  Marcello's visit had tired him, and Ishmahri was about to retire. . . until he heard the sounds of footsteps outside, approaching the temple.

 _Goddess, another one?_   Ishmahri slowly raised his head and stood, then he went to the wall to look out again.  He was preparing to trot out the usual "my child" greeting, but the words died in his throat.

No diminutive epithet would suit the man who was now making his way up the moon-phase pathway to the temple.  Without going anywhere near the stranger's thoughts, Ishmahri could feel power washing off of him in waves.  From a distance and to a human, he might have been thought an elf, but Ishmahri knew instantly that he was a Dragovian in his humanoid form-- the larger, ridged and violet-tinged ears gave his race away.  Long, very straight blonde hair hung down his back almost to the waist of his rather gaudy-colored, hot pink tunic.

Swallowing, Ishmahri did something highly unusual: he stepped outside of the temple to await his visitor.

"Greetings," Ishmahri said when the man drew near to the plateau where the temple stood.  The Dragovian raised his head and gazed up at Ishmahri with turquoise blue eyes.  Once he mounted the plateau, he proved to be far taller than Ishmahri; the elf had to tilt his head up to meet his visitor's gaze.

"You are the one who can grant any wish?" the Dragovian asked.  His voice, surprisingly, was not deep.  Instead it was light, almost musical.

The elf inclined his head.  "My name is Ishmahri."

"Greetings, Ishmahri.  I am Tatsuya, Lord of the Dragovians."

"Oh!"  Ishmahri was amazed; he had heard of this man, who was possibly the most powerful being in the world.  "And you come to me?  Surely there is nothing you wish that I could grant. . . ."

"So is the legend a lie then?"  The corner of the Dragovian's elegant mouth twitched in a little smile.  "You cannot grant _any_ wish?"

Ishmahri felt himself return the smile before he could think.  Despite his power and stunning appearance, Tatsuya was likeable.  "I'm afraid you're right, though I have selfishly allowed most humans to believe that I can do anything."

"Ah, but I am not human," said Tatsuya.  "Please, tell me the truth."

Ishmahri lowered his eyes, for the first time embarrassed that the legends were not wholly true.  "My magic is tied to memories.  When I play the Moonshadow Harp, I can bring to life any memory a person-- or an inanimate object for that matter-- possesses.  The memory can be touched, or even interacted with to some degree.  However, the memory will live for only as long as my harp sounds.  Therefore, I can grant some wishes-- allow someone to see a lost loved one again, for instance.  But I could not bring the lost one back to life."

"Then you cannot grant my wish."  Ishmahri looked up at Tetsuya again, sad at the Dragovian's disappointed tone and wondering what such a powerful man could possibly desire yet could not take for himself.

"I'm sorry if you came all this way in vain."

"Oh no, not in vain."  Tatsuya smiled fully then, brilliantly, with no hint of the disappointment Ishmahri had just heard.  "Already the knowledge you have shared with me has made it worth the trip.  In fact. . . merely getting to meet you would have been worth it."

"Me?"  Ishmahri felt his cheeks burn as much as when he had seen Marcello kiss his vision.

"Yes, of course.  I've never before met anyone who possessed your magic. . . or who lived in a place such as this."  Tatsuya gestured at the temple behind Ishmahri.  "And I have met very, very few elves-- none at all such as you.  Would it be too much to ask for you to show me more your realm, before I depart?"

"No, not at all!"  Ishmahri carefully placed his harp on its stand, then turned back to his guest.  "No one has ever expressed an interest in seeing my home before.  They merely ask for their wishes, then depart."

"What a pity," Tatsuya said as they walked outside of Ishmahri's small gazebo.  He tilted his head back to look at the moons hanging above them, revealing a perfectly-formed profile.  "This place is beautiful.  My valley is so dry and desolate. . . beautiful in its own way of course, but not like this."

"You are born of the sun," Ishmahri murmured, tracing with his eyes the long golden hair, "and I was born of the moon."

"Yes."  Tatsuya half turned his still-tilted head to glance at him with a little smile.  "We might still be friends though."  He raised his eyes to the moons once more.  "My heart was too long closed against races other than my own.  I learned my lesson far too painfully for me to ever forget it."

"Were you. . . against elves then?"

"No, humans."  Tatsuya straightened and looked around at the vast, star-spattered blackness around them.  "One of our race fell in love with a human, and I. . . had a part in separating them.  Both died as a result of my actions."  His handsome face contorted slightly in pain.  "My whole race would have died if not for their union.  After that, I learned to let love grow where its seeds fell."

"But surely that wasn't the first time a Dragovian had loved outside of your race," Ishmahri mused.

"As far as I know, it was-- and I've been around for a long time," Tatsuya said softly.

"Have you ever visited Tryan Gully?" Ishmahri asked impulsively.  When Tatsuya shook his head, Ishmahri went on, "My sister lives there.  It is a settlement of elves, monsters, and humans-- and all live together peacefully.  I haven't been there myself in ages, but perhaps you would enjoy visiting it too."

"I cannot leave my own settlement at this time," Tatsuya replied.  "In fact, departing for even a few hours this evening was risky, but I. . . I felt that I couldn't wait another month."

"I see."  Ishmahri looked down, until Tatsuya touched his arm.

"But maybe someday. . . you would take me there?"

Ishmahri looked at the hand on his arm, then up at the Dragovian's face.  "I. . . yes, I will."

Back inside the gazebo, Ishmahri showed his guest his instruments.  "Do you have need of food, or sleep?" Tatsuya asked rather humorously.  "This seems a small place to spend all of your time."

"I have no need of food while I am here," Ishmahri replied, "for I receive my energy from the Realm itself.  If I stay in your dimension for any length of time however, I must eat.  And yes, I do need sleep as much as anyone else.  I have sleeping quarters nearby."

"Do you get lonely?"  
  
"Yes, often," Ishmahri admitted.  "When I play or compose music, I forget loneliness for a time.  But when I'm waiting for sleep. . . yes."  He looked thoughtfully at his harp on its stand.  "Although lately I've gotten more visitors than I used to.  I've been so exhausted after each full moon that I'm grateful for the peace for a week at least."

"I'm sorry," Tatsuya said abruptly, "I never even thought that you must be tired.   I'll leave you and--"

"No!"  Ishmahri turned to him swiftly, then blushed at his own rudeness.  "I didn't mean-- I wasn't talking about you.  Please, don't leave."  Tatsuya looked down at him with a slightly confused expression, and Ishmahri stammered in explanation, "You still have not told me your wish.  Please, even if you think I cannot grant it, I may be able to help."

"All right."  The Dragovian turned away from him and paced to the edge of the gazebo to look out at the darkness.  "I have been thinking often of the couple I told you of and wondering at the strength of the emotion that could have caused them to suffer so much.  My wish is to experience that for myself-- to know love."

". . . Oh."  Ishmahri closed his eyes and felt for Tatsuya's thoughts.  Approaching them was a bit frightening; he could strongly feel the force of the Dragovian's power.  Fortunately, Ishmahri was able to learn the information he sought without getting very close: Tatsuya had never been in love, and there were no memories from which the harp could draw to kindle that emotion in his breast.

"You were right; I cannot grant that wish," Ishmahri admitted softly.  "I can show you the love of others as you witnessed it in the past, but I cannot create a lover for you."

Tatsuya turned back to him once more.  "I do not wish to see others."  He smiled faintly.  "I knew before I came here that it was likely a futile wish, but I had to try, you know."

"I'm sorry," he said to Tatsuya, meaning it.

"No, I should be the one apologizing," the Dragovian insisted.  "I wasted your time on a useless wish."

"It's not useless.  And you didn't waste my time."  Ishmahri made himself smile, though his heart was sad.  "I enjoyed holding an intelligent conversation for once.  And maybe if you have another wish someday, you could. . . come back."

"I thought a person could only visit this place once in his lifetime."

"It isn't true."  Ishmahri took an impulsive step forward.  "It is rare for humans to find their way here twice. . . but you may come back as often as you wish."

"But only on the full moon?" Tatsuya asked.

"Yes."  Ishmahri looked down.  "You can leave at any time of the month, but even I may only find the door to this realm during the full moon."

"Then I will come back someday.  Perhaps when I find another wish."  The Dragovian moved back to Ishmahri and touched his hand.

"Maybe you could still help me," Tatsuya murmured.  "I thought that when I came here, you would conjure some perfect lover for me.  A single kiss would have sufficed, if your magic could only simulate the feeling of love in me."

"No magic can do that," Ishmahri repeated.

"No-- but you could still grant me the kiss."

Ishmahri raised his eyes to Tatsuya's in shock.  "You mean. . . me?  But if you just want a kiss, I could 'conjure,' as you put it, any person at all from your memories, and you could--"

Tatsuya put his free hand to Ishmahri's face, laying it alongside his jaw.  "I don't want to kiss anyone from my memory.  I want to kiss _you_."  His eyes moved over the stunned Ishmahri's face.  ". . . Did you know that your ears turn pink when you blush?"

"My ears?"  Ishmahri hadn't known, which only made him blush all the harder.  The Dragovian brought his other hand to Ishmahri's face, cupping them both against the elf's jaws as he bent his head slightly.

"Please?"

Ishmahri was trembling, but he tilted his head up in assent.  He closed his eyes as Tatsuya further bent his own head, then touched his lips to Ishmahri's.  It was not the violent, self-loathing kiss Marcello had inflicted on the vision of Angelo, but a caress of infinite gentleness.  When he felt Tatsuya's mouth leave his, Ishmahri involuntarily tilted his head further up, trying to preserve the contact.  He heard Tatsuya draw in his breath, then the Dragovian's mouth returned to the elf's.

This time Ishmahri parted his lips beneath Tatsuya's, bringing his hands up to clutch the other man's arms.  The Dragovian opened his own mouth, and Ishmahri felt Tatsuya's tongue caress his lower lip before probing his mouth.  The sense of power and energy contained in Tatsuya's body and conveyed in the motion of his tongue in Ishmahri's mouth was nearly overwhelming, overwhelming and intoxicating.  Despite his own considerable power, Ishmahri knew he would be completely helpless if the Dragovian Lord turned on him.  Instead, Tatsuya was sharing his strength with him, letting him taste it as he darted his own tongue into the elf's mouth.

 _I don't care about his power_ , Ishmahri thought.  _I just want **him**. . . ._

Finally, though, he made himself pull his lips from the Dragovian's.  He was sure that if he didn't stop kissing Tatsuya then, he wouldn't be able to stop at all.

"I. . . I hope that was at least part of what you sought," Ishmahri stammered.  "I cannot grant your wish, but--"

Tatsuya let him go, though he held Ishmahri's blue eyes with his own gaze for an instant longer.  "Oh, but you did."  He turned away and descended from the gazebo, murmuring, "Goodbye, Ishmahri."

"Goodbye. . . ."  Ishmahri drifted to the edge of the temple and watched the Dragovian walk back towards the gateway into his own world.  Ishmahri felt like his heart was being pulled from his chest with every step Tatsuya took away from him.

 _I'll never see him again,_ Ishmahri thought desperately.  _And he won't even look back. . . ._   But as he reached the doorway, Tatsuya did look back at him.  The Dragovian rested one hand on the doorway, but the other was clenched against his thigh.  
  
"Do you really want me to come back, when I have another wish?" he called across the short distance between them.

"Yes," Ishmahri said in a voice he had to fight to control.  "Please."

"Then I'll see you again."  Tatsuya paused, smiled.  "Maybe next month."

When he was gone through the door, Ishmahri looked up at the sky automatically to check the time.  The night of the full moon was over, based on the position of the shifting moons Ishmahri could see.

 _He can't come back now,_ Ishmahri thought, _not for another month.  And he probably won't ever come back._   He tried to make himself believe it, tried to quell the hope that was already rising in his heart.

Ishmahri walked slowly to his nearby sleeping quarters, another gazebo-like structure but with solid walls.  After he had undressed and gotten into his bed-- a high, elegant affair with a canopy and satin sheets-- he closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

 _Please come back to me,_ Ishmahri thought, _and I'll grant you any wish you desire._


	2. Chapter 2

Mid-way through the next month, Ishmahri left the Moonshadow Realm to visit his sister in Tryan Gully.  He had spent about two weeks trying to perfect a new melody, but he was constantly distracted by thoughts of Tatsuya.

 _This is ridiculous!_ Ishmahri had told himself.  _I was only with him for a few minutes.  How could I become so infatuated with him?_   He had seen plenty of beautiful people in his long lifetime, both men and women, so why did one handsome man have such an effect on him?  _Because it's not just his appearance,_ Ishmahri had realized.  _It's because he was vulnerable-- he needed what none of the others did.  What they sought was within themselves, and all I had to do was to show it to them.  But he's **never** had love. . . and I want to be the one to grant his wish._

But why would the Lord of the Dragovians want the love of an elf, especially when he wouldn't allow one of his people to love a human?

So Ishmahri decided to go visit Raya, with the ulterior motive of taking his mind off Tatsuya.  Unfortunately, it had done little good.  Raya was delighted to see him once more, and for a couple of days, he had been occupied by catching up with her.  However, even a hundred years' worth of catching up was eventually finished, and Ishmahri spent the rest of his visit wandering dismally about the valley and thinking of the Dragovian Lord.

Raya looked at him suspiciously from time to time, but if she wondered at his behavior, she said nothing.  On the evening of the next full moon, Ishmahri took leave of her with promises to return sooner next time.

It was something of a relief to step through the door to the Moonshadow Realm; after the fortnight spent in crowded Tryan Valley, Ishmahri was glad to return to his peaceful home where he would not be plagued by friendly monsters demanding his attention.  He slowly trod the pathway leading to the gazebo, where he sat fingering the strings of his harp and waiting.  However, no visitors came this month.

Near the end of the midnight hour, Ishmahri stepped outside the gazebo and looked unhappily down at the curtained doorway leading back to the corporeal world, then he raised his head to gaze up at the shifting circle of moons over his head.  _Five minutes,_ he thought, _and the doorway will be closed for another month.  He didn't come back. . . ._   Tears pricked his eyes.

But then. . . he heard the slight rush of wind as the doorway between his realm and the rest of the world was opened.  _It is he_ , Ishmahri thought before he even looked, his heart surging in his chest.

"Ishmahri."  The elf lowered his gaze from the moons to see Tatsuya slowly ascending the path towards him, smiling.  This time he carried a long, dragon-topped staff in his right hand.

"I thought. . . you weren't coming back," Ishmahri breathed, hardly aware of what he said.  "You almost missed the chance--"

"I know.  I'm sorry to come so late."  The Dragovian stopped only a few paces away from him.  "But I was detained until after midnight, and I had to hurry to find the doorway again.  I wasn't sure I would make it in time either."

"Have you thought of another--" Ishmahri began, then broke off when he saw a faint grimace cross Tatsuya's handsome face.  "Is something wrong?"

"No, I--"  The Dragovian shuddered and involuntarily put his left hand to his side.

"You're hurt!"  Ishmahri moved closer to him and drew Tatsuya's hand away from his side.  The long, elegant fingers were slightly bloody, and Ishmahri saw a tear in the black robe Tatsuya wore beneath his tunic.  "What happened to you?" the elf breathed in concern.

"It's nothing, really," Tatsuya tried to reassure him.  "I was in such a hurry to reach the doorway that I wasn't paying attention.  Some silly monster attacked me."  He laughed but immediately winced and put his hand back to his side.  "Trust me, it got the worse end of the exchange," he finished.

Ishmahri was not convinced.  "You got hurt coming to see me!  I'm so sorry--"

"I'll be fine."  Tatsuya touched his clean hand to Ishmahri's shoulder.  "It's really only a scratch.  I just need to rest a few moments."

"Of course. . . .  Let me take you to my-- my sleeping quarters so you can lie down."  Ishmahri moved to Tatsuya's uninjured side and put his arm around the Dragovian's shoulders.  "This way."

In spite of his assurances that he was all right, Tatsuya moved slowly and leaned heavily on both Ishmahri and his staff.  The elf helped him to lie down on the canopied bed, leaning the staff against the wall next to him, then hurried with a pitcher to fetch water from one of the Realm's many waterfalls.  As he was pouring poured some of the water into a bowl, Tatsuya asked with some amusement, "You have water on the moon?"

"We aren't actually on the moon, you know," Ishmahri chided.  "When I created this place, I drew on its power, but no one could survive on the moon itself. . . not even its children, such as myself."  He set the bowl on the bedside table, then looked down at the prone Dragovian with a faint blush.  "I. . . believe the wound should be washed, but that will entail. . . um, undressing you."

Tatsuya smiled faintly.  "If you could help me remove my tunic, I shan't embarrass you by asking for further assistance with my robe.  It opens from the front."

Much relieved, Ishmahri untied the belt of the Dragovian's tunic, then lifted the bright pink garment over Tatsuya's head.  As he did so, Ishmahri's pale fingers caught in the long golden hair.  It felt like silk, and the elf had to force himself to withdraw and turn his back so that Tatsuya could remove his robe.  When Ishmahri finally turned back to the bed, the robe was lying on the floor, and Tatsuya was covered to the waist by Ishmahri's sheets.

"There," Tatsuya said with what Ishmahri suspected was hidden amusement.  He lifted one arm behind his head to expose his left side, where he was wounded.  It was not as bad as Ishmahri had feared; there were two cuts as if from claws, but only one was more than skin-deep, and even it had stopped bleeding.  Ishmahri knelt beside the bed and soaked a piece of cloth in the cool water, then gently dabbed at the bloodied skin near the wound.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured.  Without thinking, he placed his right hand on Tatsuya's chest to steady himself as he knelt.

"You're left-handed," the Dragovian observed, watching him.

"Oh. . . yes.  Most elves are."

"Most Dragovians aren't. . . but I am," Tatsuya returned.  Ishmahri glanced up at him and almost forgot his task in gazing at the beautiful blue eyes watching him.  "So we do have something in common then besides long hair and pointy ears."  He raised his own left hand and touched one of the long strands of hair that hung in front of Ishmahri's ears.

"I-I suppose so," the elf muttered, flushing as he went back to bathing Tatsuya's side.  To change the subject, he asked, "What did this?"

"A hipster, one of the stronger breeds."  Tatsuya's voice, light yet masculine, again sounded amused.  "Quite attractive for a monster, but terminally stupid. Not to mention most scandalously clad."

Ishmahri felt his face grow hot, and he wished he hadn't brought up the monster after all.  He quickly finished with the water and took up two more strips of cloth to bandage the wound.

"I. . . need to get this under you, to tie it around you," he murmured, holding up one of them.  "Will it hurt too much to arch your back a little?"

"No."  The Dragovian lifted his back; noticing his grimace of pain, Ishmahri hurried to pass the cloth under his back.  As he drew his hand back and Tatsuya relaxed, the sheet slipped below the Dragovian's waist, uncovering one prominent hip bone.  Ishmahri blushed more deeply and quickly drew the sheet up even higher than before.  He folded the second piece of cloth and pressed it against the Dragovian's side, then tied it in place.

"There, that will help you to heal faster," he assured Tatsuya.

"Thank you, Ishmahri."  Tatsuya covered the elf's hand with his own and squeezed it gently.

"Does it hurt very much?" Ishmahri asked, looking up at the Dragovian with concern.

"No, but. . . could you play for me a little while, to take my mind from it?"  He let go of Ishmahri's hand, only to touch the elf's cheek.  "I have never heard your harp."

"Of course."  Ishmahri resisted the urge to press his cheek into the Dragovian's strong hand and stood instead.  "Let me fetch it, and I'll play as much as you wish to hear."

He hurried back to the gazebo to retrieve his harp, then rejoined Tatsuya in his chamber.  The Dragovian's eyes were closed, and for a moment Ishmahri thought he was sleeping; however, Tatsuya stirred and smiled at him when the elf entered the room.  Ishmahri hesitantly sat on the side of the bed opposite him and stroked the strings of the harp.

As he played, Ishmahri allowed the harp to draw out Tatsuya's happiest memories.  When Ishmahri glanced up from his instrument, his fingers still busy, he drew in his breath at the sight of clouds drifting past the bed.  He was seeing Tatsuya's memories of flying in his dragon form.

After a moment, Ishmahri glanced at the other man's face.  His vivid eyes were half closed as he watched his memories with a faint smile.  However, Tatsuya's lids soon fell shut completely and his memories faded.

Ishmahri laid aside his harp and looked down at the sleeping Dragovian tenderly.  "Do you always sleep so peacefully, child of the sun?" he murmured, reaching out a hand to touch a strand of the golden hair spilling onto the pillow beside Tatsuya's head.  It was a moment before he realized that with Tatsuya in his bed, he himself had nowhere to sleep.

Blushing slightly, Ishmahri started to stand up, but he changed his mind when he remembered how early he usually awakened each morning.  _I can sleep beside him and be out of bed before he wakes,_ the elf thought.  He lay back against the pillow next to Tatsuya and pulled the edge of the sheet over himself.  For the first time in his long life, Ishmahri fell asleep next to another living being.

When he awakened, a faint light had permeated the room, sifting downward from the open ceiling.  Though the Moonshadow Realm never experienced true daylight, the ambient light from the circle of moons overhead was somewhat brighter during the "day time."  Looking up, Ishmahri could see an almost-full moon straight above him, shining down into the room.

He turned his head drowsily, then came instantly awake when he realized that Tatsuya was sitting up beside him, turning the Moonshadow Harp over in his slender hands.  Ishmahri sat up, already blushing at the thought of Tatsuya waking up to find the elf in bed with him.

"Oh, you're finally awake," Tatsuya said cheerfully when Ishmahri moved.  "I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of examining your harp while I waited."

"No, I. . . ."  Ishmahri shook his head slightly to clear it.  "I-I'm sorry; I didn't mean for you to. . . to find me here--"

The Dragovian gave him an amused sideways look.  "On the contrary, I'm honored you were concerned enough with my health to stay beside me all night."  Ishmahri couldn't tell if he were being facetious or not.

"How did you sleep?" Ishmahri asked as he scrambled out of bed and stood on the far side of the bed from Tatsuya.

"Very well at first-- I dreamed of your exquisite music."  Tatsuya gently stroked a few strings of the harp, which issued forth a beautiful sound even under his inexperienced touch.  "But my side began hurting a few hours ago, so I slept restlessly for the rest of the night."

"I'm sorry."  Ishmahri rounded the bed and knelt at Tatsuya's side.  "Let me see."

Tatsuya pushed the sheet down past his hip, leaving Ishmahri acutely aware that the Dragovian still wore no clothing.  The lighter scratch on his side seemed to be of little concern, but the pale skin around the deeper one was flushed an angry red.

"Tatsuya, I'm worried about this.  You need more medical care than I can provide."

"I suppose I should return to the Dragovian Sanctuary then," Tatsuya said slowly.

"Oh."  Ishmahri's heart sank.  Of course Tatsuya's health was more important than his own wish to be with the Dragovian, but--

"Ishmahri?"  He felt Tatsuya's fingers under his chin and looked up in surprise.  Tatsuya smiled down at him gently.  "You look so disappointed.  Do you want me to stay?"

"Y-you need to take care of yourself," Ishmahri stammered.

"Yes, but I couldn't stand to leave you with this sad look on your beautiful face."  Before Ishmahri could react, the Dragovian leaned forward and lightly caressed his forehead.  "My dear, that would heal my body at the expense of breaking my heart."

Ishmahri felt his face grow warm from his cheeks to the tips of his pointy ears.  No one had ever spoken to him like that before, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react.  Perhaps Tatsuya, with his infinite power, talked to everyone that way.

Then something occurred to him, and he pulled back slightly, as much to escape Tatsuya's intoxicating touch as to be able to look up at the Dragovian.  "Tatsuya-- we could go to Tryan Gully.  There are plenty there with healing powers, and. . . we could stay there a few days, if you wish.  Can you be away from the Sanctuary for that long?"

The Dragovian Lord nodded.  "Yes.  The trouble of last month has been resolved, and the Sanctuary will be fine under the other elders' care.  This time, I prepared for a journey of some length."  He smiled again with a slightly abashed look that Ishmahri found surprising  yet compelling.  "In fact, that is why I was detained last night, trying to satisfy their questions about where I was going.  I'm afraid I lied to them."

"You didn't want to tell them you were coming to see me?"

"Precisely."  Tatsuya chuckled faintly.  "There's already been enough pressure for me to marry, and if anyone had known last month that I came here seeking the feeling of love, there would have been a line of potential Dragovian brides at my door within minutes."

Ishmahri smiled.  "I understand.  I promise that my sister Raya and the others in Tryan Gully will be most discreet.  Do you feel well enough to walk?  I can command the door of the Moonshadow Realm to open at any of its entrances in the corporeal world, so if you can reach my door, we'll get there safely."

Tatsuya laughed again.  "I think I can manage that.  _If_ you'll be so kind as to hand me my clothes."

"Oh!"  Ishmahri blushed again and quickly swept up the Dragovian's robes from where they lay on the floor, then deposited them on the bed.  "I-I'll be outside when you're ready."  He grabbed his harp and hurried from the room before Tatsuya could embarrass him further.

Ishmahri took the harp back to its stand in his gazebo, then returned to the path leading to the Realm's door just as Tatsuya appeared.  The Dragovian was leaning heavily on his staff, and Ishmahri hurried to his uninjured side, taking his arm to help him.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Tatsuya asked him as they reached the curtained doorway.  "If you won't be able to come back for a month--"

"I'll stay with my sister," Ishmahri assured him.  "I don't mind leaving if I'll know you're all right."

Tatsuya smiled at him once more and touched the fingertips of his right hand, which also held his staff, to the hand with which Ishmahri held his arm.  "Thank you, Ishmahri.  If your sister is anything like you, I'm sure I'll get the best of care."

\--

The Moonshadow Window deposited Ishmahri and Tatsuya beside a cliff just outside of Tryan Gully.  As they made their way into the settlement, Tatsuya still leaning on Ishmahri, the elf was surprised that no one came to greet them; usually the monsters who lived in the gully were eager to see him.

"I wonder where everyone is," Ishmahri murmured.

"Over there, I'll wager."  Tatsuya pointed at one of the dwellings set into the cliff face on the far side of the gully.  Now that Ishmahri looked closely, he noticed a crowd of monsters outside the door.

"Ah.  Grand excitement apparently."  He helped Tatsuya over to a nearby boulder and made sure he was seated comfortably.  "Wait here.  I will try to find Raya and some of the healslimes."

Tatsuya nodded slightly and smiled up at him.  "Yes, my dear," he murmured.

Ishmahri reluctantly left his side and crossed over to the dwelling.  He gently pushed through the knot of monsters and peered inside, then drew in his breath sharply at the sight of the dark-haired human man lying on the floor of the small hut.  Raya, who along with a Gigantes and some tired-looking healslimes was kneeling beside the human, looked up at the sound.  Her delicate face relaxed in relief when she saw her brother.

"Ishmahri!  Praise the Goddess!"

"What has happened?"  Ishmahri slowly entered the room, then lowered himself to his knees beside his sister.  "This. . . this human--"

"Just after you left last night, some of the slimes found him about a mile from the gully," Raya said, looking down at the unconscious man who bore several bloody bandages and even more fierce bruises.  "Hunfrid carried him here," Raya went on, gesturing at the Gigantes, "but we don't know what happened to him."

"Looks like a fight," the one-eyed Hunfrid rumbled.  "And looks like he lost."

"I know him," Ishmahri breathed.

"You _know_ him?"  Raya stared at him.  "How?"

"He visited the Moonshadow Realm a month ago, asking for a wish."  Ishmahri gazed at the man's battered face with pity.  "His name is Marcello."

"Is he a Templar?" Raya asked.  "His clothes look it, even though they're in rags."

"I don't know.  He did not have a ring."  Hesitantly, Ishmahri reached out and laid his hand on Marcello's still forehead.  "He was very troubled."

"Not as troubled as he is now," Raya said drily, folding her arms across her small chest.  "But the healslimes are doing their best for him.  There is nothing else we can do for him at the moment."  She stood and smoothed down her dress, then looked at Ishmahri curiously.  Although he was not very tall, she was even shorter, and she did not have to look down far to meet his eyes where he knelt.  "But why are you back here already?  First I don't see you for a hundred years, then you're only gone a day!"

"I am afraid I came for the healslimes' assistance as well," he admitted as he got to his feet.  "A. . . friend was injured on his way to the Moonshadow Realm last night, and he needs more care than I can give."

"Hmm.  Well, the poor dears are kind of worn out at the moment--" Raya began, but one of the little blue healslimes interrupted her.

"I'm not too tired, Raya-san," it said bravely, even though the lids of its wide eyes were drooping.

Raya chuckled a little but bent to scoop up the slime in her hands.  "If you say so, Squirt.  We'll see how bad it is, at least."

Ishmahri led them to where he had left Tatsuya.  The Dragovian was hunched over as if in pain, but he straightened when he saw Ishmahri.

"This is Tatsuya," Ishmahri told Raya.  "Tatsuya, this is my sister Raya. . . and, erm, Squirt."  The healslime waved a tentacle.

"A Dragovian!" Raya breathed.  "I never thought I would see one of your race here in the gully.  It is an honor," she told Tatsuya, then she glared up at her brother.  "You didn't tell me your friend was a Dragovian!  Is that what you were mooning over all last month?"

"Raya!"  Ishmahri cringed; as ancient as they both were, Raya had never grown out of loving to tease him.  He couldn't bring himself to look at Tatsuya's reaction.  "He's been wounded by a hipster."

"I'll take care of it!" Squirt piped up, wriggling out of Raya's hands and squishing over to Tatsuya.  "Hi mister!"

Tatsuya chuckled and bent down to pick up the little slime; however, as he leaned forward, he winced and drew in his breath sharply.

"Tatsuya!"  Ishmahri darted to his side and pushed back on the Dragovian's shoulders, forcing him to sit up straight.  "Don't move; you'll make it worse!"

"Your wish is my command, my dear," Tatsuya replied with another chuckle, although Ishmahri felt his shoulders tremble slightly with pain.  Raya raised an eyebrow at Tatsuya's affectionate address, but Ishmahri ignored her.

"It's your side, hunh?" Squirt asked, squinting up at the Dragovian.  "We'd better let you lie down somewhere and take off all those robes so I can get a look at it!"

"Again?" Tatsuya asked with a teasing look at Ishmahri.  "I might as well stop wearing clothes."

"Goddess, Ishmahri, what are you _doing_ in that Realm of yours these days?" Raya exploded.  "I don't check up on you for a few centuries, and you start taking in naked Dragovians!"

Ishmahri felt himself turn red to the tips of his ears.  Tatsuya finally took pity on him and explained, "I was clothed when I arrived.  Ishmahri was merely kind enough to bandage my side for me.  I can assure you that nothing untoward happened."

"Are you able to walk?" Ishmahri asked Tatsuya.

"I wouldn't hear of it," Raya interrupted, then she called, "Hunfrid!  We need your help!"  When the lumbering Gigantes appeared from the dwelling where Marcello rested, Raya asked him, "Could you carry our guest to the other empty house?"  Hunfrid nodded, then scooped up Tatsuya as if he weighed nothing.

"Be careful of his side!" Ishmahri fretted.  He followed close behind the Gigantes as Hunfrid carried Tatsuya to the building Raya had indicated.  Hunfrid withdrew, and Raya, Ishmahri,  and Squirt politely waited outside while the Dragovian undressed.  When they entered the dwelling and Squirt wriggled over to the bed to examine Tatsuya, Raya tugged on Ishmahri's sleeve, holding him back near the doorway.

"Wow," she whispered.  "I see why you were distracted-- he's quite. . . something.  How did all this happen anyway?"

"I will explain later," Ishmahri tried to placate her; at the moment, he was much more concerned with Tatsuya's health than with Raya's questions.  He knelt down beside the bed and watched as Squirt ran a tentacle along the wound, while Tatsuya held back his sheet to expose his side.

"Oh, this will heal up just fine!" Squirt chirped encouragingly.  "A zap now and another one in the morning should take care of it."  The slime squeezed its eyes shut and touched the tips of all its tentacles to Tatsuya's side.  Ishmahri bit his lip as the slime glowed green for a moment, but despite his worries, the gash had healed considerably once the green light faded.

Tatsuya sighed with relief.  "That feels much better.  Thank you, little one."  He stroked Squirt's head lightly with his fingers.

The slime's cheeks turned pink.  "Just doing my job.  And even if you feel better, you need to take it easy today!  You just lie right there and stay comfortable, and I'll bring some of the other monsters by to entertain you!"

"Uh, Squirt, that might not be the best idea--" Ishmahri began, horrified.  However, Squirt was already skittering across the floor on its tentacles.  Ishmahri watched it dart out the door, then he turned back to Tatsuya with a sigh.  "I'm sorry.  They really shouldn't bother you--"

"It's all right," Tatsuya interrupted, closing his large hand over Ishmahri's smaller, paler one which rested on the bed.  "I'll get bored under house arrest anyway."

Raya giggled slightly as she came over to the bed.  "Besides, Ishmahri, the monsters would never forgive you if you kept them from meeting a real Dragovian.  We go so long without seeing anyone from the outside world, much less someone like Tatsuya.  Now, do you mind helping me with that Templar of yours?  With all due respect, I think he is in need of a bit more assistance than Tatsuya is."

"Yes, of course."  Ishmahri gently squeezed Tatsuya's hand.  "You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine."  Tatsuya let go of his hand only to brush his fingertips against Ishmahri's cheek.  "But come back to me soon.  I don't know who this Templar is, but I don't want you to spend all your time with _him_."

Ishmahri felt himself flush as he stood.  "Raya was being facetious.  I promise, I'll be back soon."

By the time Ishmahri and Raya returned to the room where Marcello lay, most of the monsters had left in favor of Tatsuya's room; a Dragovian was far more interesting to them than a mere human.  Only a couple of exhausted-looking healslimes and a single cureslime remained.

"Go on and get some rest, loves," Raya told the slimes tenderly.  "Ishmahri and I will watch over him for a while."  The slimes chirped in acknowledgement and slunk off tiredly as the elves took their places beside Marcello's bed.

"I wish we knew what had happened to him," Ishmahri murmured, placing the back of his hand against Marcello's forehead, just below the human's prominent widow's peak.  "He feels feverish."

"What kind of shape was he in when he sought you out?" Raya asked with a little frown.

"Ragged, but intact. . . not like this."  Ishmahri sighed and withdrew his hand, feeling helpless.  "Although inwardly, I think he has wounds worse than these."

"Oh?  What was his wish?"

"He wished for peace."

Raya raised an eyebrow at her brother.  "I don't envy you, Isyu-kun."  Though her tone was again facetious, her use of her pet name for him-- by which she had not called him in centuries-- conveyed her sympathy.

However, it also made him slightly suspicious that the childhood endearment indicated forthcoming teasing.  His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when she went on, "And for what did your Dragovian wish?"

"He isn't _my_ Dragovian," Ishmahri retorted.

"You didn't protest when I called this one 'your' Templar," Raya shot back with a gesture at Marcello.  "And you're not answering my question."

Ishmahri couldn't meet her eyes as he answered, "He wished to experience love.  He has never loved before, and he thought the Moonshadow Harp could grant him that feeling."

"I _see_.  And could it?"

"No."  Ishmahri finally risked a glance at her and found her violet-pink eyes sparkling at him in amusement.  "Not even the most powerful harp, the one brought to me by the Dragovian-human halfling, could create something without precedent.  It must have memories from which to conjure its illusions."

"Nevertheless, you don't seem to have disappointed him."

"He suspected that the harp would have limitations," Ishmahri said shortly.

"Unh hunh."  Raya regarded the blush that had crept over her brother's cheeks, then she laughed softly.  "All right, I'll leave you alone.  Although if you care for him, you shouldn't let it bother you that he's of a different race.  Why, Hunfrid and I--"

"It isn't that," Ishmahri interrupted before he could realize what he was saying.  "It's that-- wait, Hunfrid and you. . . ?  You're. . . ."

"Yes.  We've been lovers for a while now."  She dissolved into a fit of giggling at his stricken expression.  "Isyu-kun, if you could see your face!  Is it because he's a monster?"

"No, he's just. . . just so _big_ , and. . . well, that shows you how perceptive I am without my harp," Ishmahri finally said with an abashed smile, the tips of his ears drooping slightly.  "I need to start paying less attention to memories and more attention to the world as it exists  now."

"Yes, you do," Raya said seriously, most of the humor already gone from her small, earnest face.  "I know the Gully isn't exactly 'of the world,' but you've been much farther removed from this earth for so long.  Is _that_ why you don't want to talk about Tatsuya?  Or are you just being shier than normal?"

"I can't possibly give him what he deserves," Ishmahri finally said carefully.  "If he wishes to know love, I can't be the one--"

"And why not?" Raya cut him off.  "If not because of your races, then why?  Don't tell me it's because you're both men-- surely the human culture's silly gender restrictions haven't rubbed off on you.  Or is it because you're going to insist on remaining celibate for the rest of your existence?  I heard Mother's diatribe about chastity as often as you did, but I would think that after three thousand years, you're old enough to-- "

"You said it yourself before; it's because I am so far from this world," Ishmahri finally told her in order to interrupt her querying.  "Even though I sometimes leave the world of the Moonshadow in between full moons, I could not be with him as often as his lover should be-- and he cannot continue to leave his sanctuary to come to me."  He sighed heavily and looked down at Marcello's still, bruised faced.  Watching the unconscious human was easier than seeing Raya's response to his words.  "And besides. . . I am not worthy of him."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Raya exploded.  "Just because he's a Dragovian?  He's perfectly nice, but you know as well as I do what an inflated sense of importance they have, not just keeping to themselves as we do, but going so far as to shun all visitors.  Yes, they're powerful, but they're not any _better_ than we elves are, nor humans, nor monsters."

"He's not just a Dragovian," Ishmahri finally admitted in a low voice.  "He's. . . he's the Dragovian Lord."

"He _what_?" Raya gaped at him.  "Ishmahri, I had no idea."  Then she frowned slightly.  "But I see what you mean. . . he couldn't leave the Dragovian Sanctuary for very long, could he?"

Ishmahri didn't want to think about that; between Tatsuya's and Marcello's injuries, he had enough weighing on his mind.  "Raya, this poor child of the sun needs our attention," he told her firmly with another gesture at Marcello.

Raya gave him a look that told him she was fully aware that he was avoiding the issue.  However, she apparently gave in for the time being and just nodded.  "Right.  I guess we should start by changing his bandages.  I had the healslimes leave extra dressings in that cabinet behind you."  
  
As Ishmahri stood to get the strips of cloth, he felt relieved that Raya was letting the subject of Tatsuya drop.  Still, knowing his sister, it wouldn't be for long.


	3. Chapter 3

Ishmahri and Raya stayed with the unconscious Marcello until twilight, then some of the slimes returned.  Squirt was among them, and it flitted over to the pallet where the human lay and regarded him worriedly.

"He still isn't awake?"

"No, little one."  Ishmahri looked down at the healslime.  "We have cleaned and rebandaged his wounds, though."

Squirt nodded and scrambled up onto the pallet, where it sat on Marcello's chest and stared at his closed eyes.  "We'll stay with him for the night, so you can leave.  Tatsuya-sama was asking for you."

"He was?" Ishmahri murmured before he could stop himself.  Raya smirked at him, then turned her mischievous smile on the healslime.

"Don't tell me you're already in love with this human, lassie.  You're unusually attentive to him."

"Of course not!" Squirt retorted, without moving.

"'Lassie'?" Ishmahri queried after he and Raya left the dwelling.  "Squirt is female?"

Raya shrugged.  "As far as I know.  With slimes, you can never really tell."

Some of the monsters had prepared an enormous pot of vegetable stew for dinner-- made of non-sentient vegetables only, Raya explained with a nod at a surly treeface stirring the pot.  Ishmahri brought some to Tatsuya's room, where he found the Dragovian still surrounded by several adoring monsters.  At the front of the crowd was an imp, who hovered near Tatsuya's head.

"Pleathe thay you're evil," the imp lisped insistently.  "An evil Dragovian would be really cool!"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not evil," Tatsuya explained patiently, the corner of his mouth twitching in a suppressed smile.

"Darn."  The imp's protruding tongue stuck out even farther.  "No one evil ever cometh here! . . . You're thure you're not evil?"

"Beez, leave the poor man alone," Raya sighed, appearing behind Ishmahri just in time to grab the imp's wing and drag him away.  "You're going to miss your dinner."

"Dinner?  Oh boy!"  The imp's disappointment evaporated, and he darted out the door.  Raya gave Tatsuya an apologetic smile, then gestured at the other monsters.

"That goes for the lot of you.  Our guest needs to rest."  The other monsters reluctantly cleared out, with Raya following them.

When he and Tatsuya were finally alone, Ishmahri gave a bowl of stew to the Dragovian.  "Are you hungry?"

"Famished.  And rather tired.  You wouldn't believe how many puppet shows and impromptu monster concerts I've had to sit through.  Not to mention the tea party I had with one of those young Khalamari-- a tea party with imaginary tea, unfortunately."  Tatsuya sipped at his stew, then raised his green eyes to Ishmahri.  "So tell me about this Templar."

"He visited me last month, in the hour before you first came to my realm," Ishmahri explained as he sat on the edge of Tatsuya's bed.  "He asked me for peace from the memories that torture him.  I played for him, but I fear that the memory brought to life by the harp did not soothe him."

"And what memory was that?"

Ishmahri looked down uncomfortably.  "Someone he loved very much, and whom he hated nearly as strongly.  I do not know what happened to Marcello between then and last night, but he has been badly injured; he bore healing wounds when I first saw him, but now. . . now he looks as if he might never awaken."

"It isn't your fault, Ishmahri."  Tatsuya's words made the elf start, for they addressed the very thing that had plagued him.  "Even if what he saw in your world drove him to recklessness, you were only trying to help him."

"Yes, but. . . Tatsuya, I've failed so rarely," Ishmahri blurted out, leaning towards the Dragovian with a pleading look.  "But then him, and now you. . . two wishes I could not grant--"

Tatsuya's brows lowered into a stern expression.  "Why do you say you've failed me?"

"The harp could show you nothing," Ishmahri said helplessly.  "Your people wish you to marry, but I--"

"You think I came to you to find a bride?"  Tatsuya's face softened, and he smiled.  "Dearest, my people wish me to marry, indeed, but they want my bride to be a Dragovian maiden.  I must have an heir, they say, even though I will likely live for many centuries yet.  But as you saw from my own memories, I love none of those girls, and I am willing to wager anything that I never shall."

"How do you know?" Ishmahri asked, although the very subject only compounded the embarrassment he already felt.

Tatsuya laughed outright.  "Must you ask?  I'll put it this way: normally, marriages between like genders are sanctioned by my people, but not when the very purpose of the marriage is to produce a child.  And while I am speaking frankly, I'll also say that I refuse to marry someone I do not, and cannot, love, even if my refusal means that the line of my ancestors will end with me.  Anyway, by the time I leave this world for the next, I hope my people will realize that the council needs no monarch over it.  It can rule just fine on its own."

"You mean. . . oh."

"Yes."  Tatsuya set aside his empty bowl and rested his hand on Ishmahri's knee, the only part of the elf within reach.  "The only 'bride' I would wish to take would be a man, and the fact that any other marriage would be loveless does not matter to the council.  However," he added with another smile, "this is one matter in which I will never defer to them.  Before I met you, I thought that perhaps I might give in to their demands and marry without love-- but by the time I left your world last month, I had changed my mind.  So you see, you haven't failed me at all.  You've saved me from an unhappiness that might have plagued me for the rest of my days."

Ishmahri felt the heat in his face spread as Tatsuya's hand contracted gently over his knee.  The elf had spent little thought on sexuality, neither his nor anyone else's; living alone for so much of his life had left him with no need to consider it.  In fact, his reclusive lifestyle had left him with the shyness Raya noted, and the wishes he had heard involving sexual lusts and desires embarrassed him considerably, shaking the ancient, ethereal air he usually conveyed.  He had never even really thought about romantic love outside of the abstract, never noted that most beings' desires were limited to one gender or another rather than encompassing all genders, a state which seemed much more natural.

Ishmahri had found many beings, of all races and all genders, to be quite beautiful, but he had never desired any one more than another. . . until now.  As he finally forced himself to look up into Tatsuya's handsome face, Ishmahri felt a shocking twinge of jealousy towards anyone else, female or male, whom the Dragovian Lord might take as a bride.

To escape the unnerving conversation, Ishmahri left to take Tatsuya's empty bowl back to the treeface, who was now washing the supper dishes.  The large plant took the bowl from him with a creak and began scrubbing it using a rag wrapped around one branch.  When he returned to Tatsuya's room, Ishmahri managed to turn the conversation to the history of Tryan Gully and how the secluded settlement, initially founded by the human Kupas, Hunfrid, and Raya, had grown to become the home of others who felt displaced from the bitter, unharmonious world outside.

"The human with his short lifespan died long ago, of course," Ishmahri said.  "But my sister and Hunfrid have never forgotten his kindness to them.  There are mostly monsters here now, but a few other humans have made this place their home."

"No other elves, though?"

Ishmahri shook his head.  "There are very few elves left in this world.  Even I come here very rarely; normally I dislike leaving the land of the Moonshadow for very long."

"I see."  Tatsuya lowered his head slightly, and a tendril of blonde hair which had escaped from his circlet fell over his face.  "No, I suppose you can't often be away from your world, just as I cannot be away from mine."  Ishmahri wondered at his serious expression, but Tatsuya went on normally after a moment.  "It's a shame that you left your harp behind.  I would love to hear you play again."

"Yes, I too regret leaving it, especially with Marcello here.  Perhaps it might have aided him in some way."  Ishmahri sat next to Tatsuya on the bed and with a slightly shaking hand, tucked the wayward strand of hair back into place.  "I will play for you again the next time you visit me."

Tatsuya caught Ishmahri's hand to his own, brought it to his lips and kissed it, then pressed Ishmahri's fingers to his cheek.  "I've never met anyone else with so kind a heart as yours.  Do you ever think of yourself?"

Ishmahri's fingertips trembled against the Dragovian's skin.  "I. . . what is there to think?"

"You must have wishes of your own.  Who will grant those?"  Ishmahri tried to pull his hand back, but Tatsuya held it fast, locking the elf's gaze with his.  "Tell me what _you_ desire, Ishmahri.  I'll give you anything in my power."

"Kiss me again," Ishmahri whispered before he could stop himself.

Tatsuya's eyes widened slightly, as if he were as surprised as Ishmahri that the elf had voiced that particular wish.  Then Tatsuya smiled and murmured huskily, "You desire me, then?"

Ishmahri felt like the very tips of his ears were on fire.  "I--"  He closed his eyes and drew in his breath sharply.  " _Yes_."

The Dragovian let go of his hand, but an instant later his arms slipped about Ishmahri's back, pulling him closer.  Still afraid to open his eyes, Ishmahri put his own arms around Tatsuya's shoulders and held him, though he was careful of the Dragovian's wounded side.  He felt Tatsuya's lips brush the side of his neck, then press to his mouth.

"Ishmahri," Tatsuya whispered against the elf's lips.  He kissed Ishmahri softly, holding his head still with one hand and trailing the other down his back.  Ishmahri shivered against him and returned his kiss eagerly; for the moment at least, his worries about the propriety of his feelings for Tatsuya had vanished.

Ishmahri felt Tatsuya's lips part, and he hesitantly pushed his tongue into the Dragovian's mouth.  Tatsuya moaned softly and twined his own tongue about Ishmahri's, clutching the elf closer to him.  Again, the rush of Tatsuya's power overwhelmed Ishmahri, making his heart pound in his chest with nervous desire-- desire not for Tatsuya's power but to be encircled and protected by it as Tatsuya kissed him.  Ishmahri, who had always been the one in aloof, condescendingly kind control, now savored the feeling of being completely at another's mercy.  He was used to giving willingly to others of his time, his abilities, and his music. . . but this was the first time he was willing to give himself.

Tatsuya pulled his mouth from Ishmahri's but only to transfer it to the elf's neck, which he caressed ardently.  "Goddess, Ishmahri," he murmured, drawing back Ishmahri's long hair with one hand and kissing beneath it.  "Before I met you, I could not have dreamed such beauty existed, even in a world beyond my own."

Ishmahri could hardly believe anyone would direct words like those to him, and again he wondered if he was really the only one to whom Tatsuya spoke so.  It seemed too marvelous to be true.  "But I. . . I am not so beautiful.  Raya is much more lovely--"

 "I speak with greatest respect to your kind sister," Tatsuya whispered, "but she cannot compare to you.  No one can."  He drew his lips from Ishmahri's neck in order to look into his eyes.  "Ishmahri, from the first time I saw you, I wanted you as I've never wanted anyone before.  And after I'd spent only a few minutes with you, I not only wanted you; I cared for you.  All my long life, I have been selfish-- even my desire to protect my people does not excuse that.  But you. . . ."  He took Ishmahri's face in his hands.  "Your every thought and concern is for others, never for yourself.  Your generous nature and kind heart have completely seduced me, my darling."

"You're wrong," Ishmahri murmured as he gazed back into Tatsuya's eyes.  "I _am_ selfish-- I want you all for myself."

Tatsuya's thin lips curved in a tender smile.  "I am already yours."

 _But what about when you must return to your Sanctuary, and I to the land of the Moonshadow?_ Ishmahri wondered unhappily.  However, Tatsuya looked at him so lovingly, the elf couldn't bring himself to speak his doubts.  Instead, he laid his head against Tatsuya's shoulder and clung to the Dragovian's chest.  Tatsuya slid his arms around Ishmahri's back once more and stroked his hair with one hand.  Ishmahri felt Tatsuya's other hand on his left shoulder, where it pushed aside the two layers of robes to expose the pale skin of the elf's upper arm.  Tatsuya bent his head and trailed kisses from Ishmahri's shoulder along his collar bone; each touch of his lips made Ishmahri shiver with a desire that was swiftly turning into pure lust.

 "Tatsuya!" Ishmahri gasped as the Dragovian's teeth nipped gently at the hollow at the base of his throat.  The sensation felt like the bolt of a thunder spell shooting from his throat straight to his groin.  Tatsuya made a soft noise of pleasure at Ishmahri's response and repeated the action, causing Ishmahri to shudder and dig his fingertips into the Dragovian's back.  Tatsuya's mouth moved lower as he tongued the flesh over Ishmahri's breastbone, until he reached the fabric of the white tunic he wore under his blue overwrap.

"Please," Ishmahri whispered hoarsely as soon as Tatsuya paused and he could think clearly again.  "Don't. . . ."

Tatsuya raised his head and looked at him questioningly with an expression of concern and disappointment.  "You wish me to stop?"  
  
"No, but we. . . I can't let you. . . ."  Ishmahri lowered his eyes unhappily, unable to explain.  "You are injured, and I'm afraid. . . ."

"You're afraid I may hurt myself further?" Tatsuya asked softly.  "Or you're just afraid?"

"Both," Ishmahri responded honestly.  "Tatsuya--"

The Dragovian silenced him by brushing his lips in a kiss.  "It's all right."  He kissed Ishmahri's forehead then his lips again before withdrawing and lying down beside him, albeit with an air of reluctance.  "I will lie still and rest like the healslime ordered."  He looked up at Ishmahri with a small, teasing smile.  "And after it blasts me again in the morning, maybe you won't worry about me hurting myself when I make love to you."

That night, Ishmahri again slept beside Tatsuya; not only did Squirt relay orders that someone stay with the Dragovian, but with two injured guests, there were no other empty dwellings available.  Ishmahri slept fitfully at first, awakening several times to check on Tatsuya, but later in the night his rest grew more peaceful.

When he woke up for good the next morning, Tatsuya was still sleeping soundly.  Ishmahri quietly slipped out of bed and went around to Tatsuya's side, pulling back the covers just enough to check the Dragovian's wound.  It seemed to be nearly completely healed, and Ishmahri was sure that one more treatment from Squirt would be enough.

He left Tatsuya, not wanting to awaken the Dragovian from his rest, and walked out into the early morning light.  It promised to be a beautiful day, although the bright sunlight made Ishmahri slightly homesick for his own peaceful realm.  There was no one about, for the monsters active at night had gone to sleep with the dawn, but those who loved the day were not yet awake.

Ishmahri walked to the dwelling where Marcello rested, for he was concerned about the human's condition.  He entered the doorway and looked fearfully at the human's form on the pallet, fearing that he might not have survived the night.  However, the man's chest was rising and falling shallowly.  A healslime-- Ishmahri assumed it was Squirt-- was hovering next to the pallet, but every few seconds its small body would droop in exhaustion, then start awake again.

Ishmahri went to the slime and knelt down beside the pallet, touching the small monster's head gently.  "How is he?"

"Oh, Ishmahri-san," Squirt murmured drowsily.  "He's. . . he's all right.  Hasn't woken up yet."  She broke off in a big yawn and blinked her round eyes hard.  "But he's not any worse."

"You should rest, little one."  Ishmahri looked down at the tired healslime pityingly.  "I will stay with him for a while, so you can sleep."  
  
"But what about. . . Tatsuya-sama?" she asked, even as she slumped down on the pallet by Marcello's shoulder.

"He's quite well," Ishmahri assured her with a smile, "thanks to you."  
  
"Good. . . ."  Squirt's eyes fell closed.

Once the slime was asleep, Ishmahri turned his attention on Marcello.  His bandages were still clean and although the bruises and cuts on his face were still vivid, he seemed to be in better shape than the previous evening.

 _He will live,_ Ishmahri decided, though he wondered if that was what Marcello wanted.

Raya had left a pitcher of water in the room in case Marcello should awaken during the night.  Ishmahri dampened an unused bandaged in it and gently washed the human's face.  When he had finished, he hesitantly laid his hand on Marcello's dark hair.  Something about this human fascinated him; perhaps it was only Ishmahri's own pity for him, but he longed to help Marcello somehow.

He started when Marcello stirred.  The human made a faint noise of protest and swatted weakly at Ishmahri's hand resting on his hair.

"Marcello," Ishmahri said softly, shifting his hand to the human's cheek.

"Mnnn."  The man's eyelids lifted slowly, and Ishmahri found himself looking down into vivid green eyes.

"You. . . ." Marcello breathed through barely-parted, chapped lips.  "Where. . . am I?"

"You are in a place called Tryan Gully," Ishmahri answered, withdrawing his hand politely.  "You have been under the care of an elf and several monsters."

"Monsters?"  Marcello gave a faint sardonic laugh and closed his eyes again.

"Yes, healslimes like this little one."  Ishmahri stroked the sleeping Squirt, but Marcello did not open his eyes to look at her.

Marcello was silent for several moments, and Ishmahri decided it was best not to speak to him until the human chose to speak first.  Finally, he opened his eyes again and shifted his arms, attempting to sit up.  Ishmahri put his own slender arm about Marcello's shoulders and helped him to rise.  As soon as he was sitting upright, Marcello tried to shrug Ishmahri's arm away.

 _He does not like to be touched,_ Ishmahri observed as he removed his arm.

"Why are you here?" Marcello asked him in a raspy voice.

"The elf maiden who lives here is my sister, Raya.  I am visiting her."  Easier to give that reason than to try to explain Tatsuya.

"I thought. . .  you weren't real.  I thought I dreamed you."  Marcello scowled down at his lap, shrouded in the blanket Raya had placed over him.  "I wish I _had_ dreamed you.  You should not exist."

Ishmahri blinked in mild surprise.  "Why is that?"

Marcello turned his head to cast the elf a bitter look.  "You see into my thoughts."

"Only with my harp."  Ishmahri smiled gently.  "It is not with me now, so your thoughts are safe."

"But you've already seen--"  Marcello broke off and looked away again.  "How did I come to be here?"  

"Some of the monsters who live here found you nearby, unconscious and badly injured.  Hunfrid, my sister's-- a gigantes brought you here where you could be cared for."

"A gigantes?"  Marcello stared at him.  "But gigantes are what did this to me."

"Hunfrid was not among them, I can assure you.  He is most gentle."  Marcello made a disbelieving noise and reached his hand upward to smooth his black hair.  Ishmahri noticed that he winced when he moved his arm.

"Why did the gigantes attack you?" the elf went on.

"They didn't," Marcello said shortly.  "I attacked them."

". . . Oh.  For what reason?"

Marcello turned his head away from Ishmahri.  "I was once the most powerful human in this world-- and then I lost everything.  And what I did not lose, I threw away."  He clenched his bare right fist and unconsciously rubbed it with his other hand.  "But I could still fight, so I decided to become a monster hunter in order to support myself.  I suppose I misjudged my strength when I took on five gigantes at once."

Ishmahri looked down at the human's clenched fist sadly.  "I believe that instead you misjudged the value of your own life."  
  
Marcello turned back to him with an angry hiss.  "You said you could not see my thoughts without your harp!"

Impulsively, Ishmahri closed his hand over Marcello's.  "My child, I do not need the Moonshadow Harp to read your motive."

He expected Marcello to pull his hand away, but the human did not.  "I tried to end my life once before and failed-- he, _he_ prevented me.  I vowed not to try again. . . but after seeing him, that vision of him in your world--"  Now Marcello did remove his hands from Ishmahri's, but only to rest his forehead in them.

Ishmahri's heart sank a little; despite what Tatsuya had said, he blamed himself more than ever for worsening Marcello's pain.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.  "My poor child. . . ."

Marcello slowly raised his head and looked at Ishmahri incredulously.  His green eyes searched Ishmahri's blue ones, then Marcello said in amazement, "You really _are_ sorry.  You don't know me, yet. . . you care."

"Some of us are cursed with kind hearts."  Ishmahri looked down at the healslime sleeping at Marcello's side.  "This little one cares for you too.  She has been beside you constantly since you arrived here, and she is responsible for most of your healing."

Marcello watched Squirt for a moment.  "Then I suppose I can't further destroy what she's worked so hard to preserve."  To Ishmahri's amazement, the human reached out and cupped the slime in his hand.  As he picked her up, she awoke with a little shiver, rubbing at her eyes with two tentacles.

"Marcello-san!" she cried ecstatically.  "You're awake!  I'm so glad."  She hugged his thumb in her tentacles happily.

"You already know my name?"  Marcello stared at his be-slimed hand with an expression of discomfiture.

"Yes, Ishmahri-san told us."  She climbed out of his hand and squished her way across his chest until her tentacles could reach his face.  "My name's Squirt!" she announced as she drew her tentacles over a bruise on his cheek.  "Oh, you _are_ getting better!  But we've still got a lot of work to do.  Ishmahri-san, could you get the other healslimes and cureslimes?  I'll come see about Tatsuya-sama as soon as we're through here!"

"Of course."  Ishmahri rose and smiled down at poor Marcello, who was cringing back from the slime's eager touch.  "I will return to visit you later, if you wish."

Marcello did not answer, only raised his eyes briefly to Ishmahri's before turning his attention back to Squirt.  Ishmahri wasn't sure if that constituted as a yes or a no, but he resolved to come back later anyway.  Marcello needed a distraction from his own thoughts-- and so did Ishmahri.


	4. Chapter 4

When Ishmahri emerged from Marcello's dwelling and returned to his own, he found Tatsuya awake and in the company of a cureslime.  The small pink creature had apparently completed Tatsuya's last "treatment," for the Dragovian was now wrapped in his black robes and in the process of putting on his tunic.

"Are you all right?" Ishmahri asked him.

"Yes, quite."  Tatsuya stood and went to him, placing his hands on Ishmahri's shoulder and kissing his forehead.  "I've been pronounced healthy."

"Completely recovered," the cureslime said in a brusque, matter-of-fact way as it slithered out the door.  "Just mind it doesn't happen again."

They ate breakfast with Raya and most of the other monsters; meals were usually a communal affair in the Gully held picnic-style on the ground near the community's entrance.  Squirt appeared while they were eating, and the little slime began to inhale a bowl of porridge as if she were starving.

"But I'm hungry!" she protested when Raya gently scolded her.  "Healing people really takes it out of you!"  She licked a glob of porridge off a tentacle, then turned to Ishmahri and Tatsuya, who sat beside him.  "Ishmahri-san, Tatsuya-sama, will you come hear our lessons today?  I bet you could teach us all kinds of things!"

Tatsuya chuckled.  "Ah, you have lessons too?  This is excellent; now when the children of _my_ settlement complain, I can tell them that even monsters have to go to school.  I would be delighted to come."

"Wonderful!" Raya exclaimed as she daintily nibbled a piece of toasted bread.  "It _was_ my turn to lecture today, but I could use a day off.  Can you do their music lesson, Ishmahri?"

Ishmahri nodded at her.  "Certainly."  
  
"Hooray!" squeaked Squirt.  She jumped to her tentacles and darted off towards the shrine where Raya and Hunfrid allowed the students to meet.  "We start as soon as breakfast is over, so hurry!"

"I wish I had that kind of energy," Tatsuya said to Ishmahri wryly.

"And to think she was awake all night too, sitting with Marcello," Ishmahri murmured as he watched the healslime depart.

"Oh?  So you've already seen him today?"

"Yes.  He is awake now."  Ishmahri looked down at his nearly untouched food.

"And you left me to go see him."  Tatsuya shook his head in mock disappointment.  
  
Ishmahri raised his head and smiled at him.  "Are you jealous?"

Tatsuya leaned over and whispered, "Terribly," then kissed the tip of Ishmahri's ear.

Raya had stood and was walking around to collect some of the dishes, and as she bent down to pick up Tatsuya's bowl, she scolded, "Tatsuya-sama, could you please wait and seduce my brother in private?  There are young monsters present!"

"Raya!" Ishmahri hissed in humiliation.

"Isyu-kun!" she returned, tapping him on the head with an unused spoon.  "If you're going to help with the lessons, you two should get going.  But for the Goddess's sake, don't give them any lessons in _that_ sort of thing.  They grow up quickly enough as it is."

"'Isyu-kun,' is it?" Tatsuya asked teasingly as they walked to the shrine.  "Can I call you that?"

"No," Ishmahri mumbled.

"What about Isyu-chan then?" the Dragovian suggested.  He stopped beside a tree outside the shrine and caught Ishmahri's hands in his.  "It's either that, or Ishy."

"And what's wrong with plain Ishmahri?" the elf said with an attempt at sternness.

" _Everyone_ calls you that."  He brought Ishmahri's hands to his lips and kissed his harp-calloused fingertips.

Ishmahri felt his cheeks flush slightly, and he stroked Tatsuya's cheek.  "Actually, I like it when you call me your dearest."

Tatsuya bent his head and kissed Ishmahri's mouth, whispering, "Then dearest it is."  He straightened and started inside the shrine, though he kept hold of Ishmahri's hand.  "Come, I'm sure our little slime is waiting impatiently for us."

Raya had been teaching the students-- a group of five young monsters and a single human boy-- the history of the elves, but that day they begged to hear about the Dragovians instead.  Tatsuya laughingly acquiesced and spent most of the morning detailing a history that few in the corporeal world knew.  Ishmahri listened with fascination; even he knew little about the Dragovians, and every word was like a glimpse into the hidden life of his mysterious lover.

After art with Drang the dracky and the noon meal, Ishmahri continued the music lessons he had begun during his previous weeks' stay in the Gully.  Afterwards, Beez, the imp who officiated in the Gully's church, gave what Ishmahri suspected was a highly inaccurate lesson in religious history.

"And that," he announced at the end of the school day, "ith how the Goddeth decreed that the demon monthterth were better than everyone elthe!  The end."

"That's not true!" Squirt snapped.  "Slimes are the Goddess's favorite monsters!  _Everyone_ knows that-- just look at how many kinds of us there are!"

"Hey, whoth the religiouth authority around here, anyway?" Beez retorted.  "I know what I'm talking about!"

"But I thought all creatures were equal in the eyes of the Goddess," the human boy said in a small voice.

"Of courthe they are," sniffed Beez.  "Thome are jutht more equal than otherth."

"Perhaps you should look into recruiting an instructor formally trained in theology," Tatsuya suggested, obviously trying to mask a smile.

"We tried," Squirt said unhappily.  "My mentor, Erapel-sensei, went to Maella Abbey once; he wanted to study to become a priest, but they kicked him out because he's a monster.  But he's a _cureslime_ \-- that's the best kind of slime there is!  Isn't that good enough for the Goddess?"

Ishmahri patted her in a sympathetic gesture.  "Of course it is."

"I know!" she cried suddenly.  "Let's ask Marcello-san to be our new teacher!  He was a Templar, right?  So he'd know all about religion?"

Ishmahri swallowed hard.  "I. . . don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Squirt pouted.

"Yes. . . why not?"  The words were spoken in Marcello's voice.  Ishmahri jumped and looked over his shoulder at the door of the shrine.  Marcello was leaning there, wrapped in bandages and not putting any weight on his left foot.

"You're up!" squealed the healslime, then she immediately frowned and added sternly, "But you should be resting!"

Marcello ignored her and limped over to where the others were.  He leaned against the short fence crossing the open area of the shrine and folded his arms.  The young monsters and human boy looked at him with guarded interest.

"You haven't answered my question," Marcello leveled at Ishmahri, fixing him with his green eyes.  Ishmahri recognized the look as one meant to drive its recipient into submission; likely, Marcello had used it often before.

It had no effect on Ishmahri.  "You are still in ill health, and likely not strong enough to deal with these young ones," he said mildly, gesturing at the pupils.  "And also, we merely assumed that you are a Templar.  You wear no ring."

Marcello gazed at him a moment, then responded, "I _was_ a Templar, but I. . . threw my ring away when I abandoned that life."

"Threw it away?" Ishmahri repeated.

Marcello only looked at him, and Ishmahri looked back steadily.  Tatsuya, who had remained silent since Marcello's appearance, rose then and came to stand behind Ishmahri, resting his hands on the elf's shoulders.  _I do not need your help in dealing with this human,_ Ishmahri thought, but he was pleased by Tatsuya's touch nevertheless.

"So you do wish to teach these children the ways of the Goddess?" Tatsuya asked.

"I have committed great sins against Her," Marcello replied, shifting his gaze-- now unchallenging and merely vaguely amused-- to the Dragovian.  "Perhaps She will accept the impartation of my humble knowledge to these monsters as a small part of my atonement."

"He called me a monster!" the human boy whispered proudly to Squirt.

"Perhaps," Tatsuya said.

"We have not met," Marcello pointed out, rising slowly from the spot where he leaned.  "My name is Marcello."

"I know."

"He is Tatsuya, Lord of the Dragovians," Ishmahri told the human.  He felt Tatsuya's hands tighten on his shoulders, then the Dragovian rested his chin on the top of Ishmahri's head.  Ishmahri supposed the movement was meant to be possessive, but it was a little embarrassing to be reminded just how short he was.

"Lord of the Dragovians," Marcello breathed.  His expression briefly flickered from mild amusement to something else. . . jealousy?  "The most powerful corporeal being in existence."

"I suppose," said Tatsuya.

"Your lessons are over for today, children," Ishmahri told them abruptly, pulling away from Tatsuya to lean down to the students.  "And I suppose this means Marcello-san is willing to instruct you tomorrow?"  He looked up at the human, who nodded slightly.

"Yay!" some of the little monsters cried as they scampered away.  Squirt, however, went over to Marcello and glared up at him.

"Go lie down!" she barked.  "You shouldn't be on your feet so much!"

Marcello looked down at her, then surprised them all by bending down stiffly and scooping her up in one hand.  "All right.  If you come attend to me."

"O-okay."  Squirt's round eyes widened slightly; she obviously hadn't expected to be obeyed.

"If this little doctor allows it, I will see you at dinner tonight," Marcello said to Ishmahri once he had straightened.  Ishmahri inclined his head, and the human turned and limped from the shrine, still carrying Squirt in his hand.

"He troubles me," Tatsuya murmured when Marcello was gone.

"And me as well."  Ishmahri sighed, then flushed when Tatsuya wrapped his arms about Ishmahri's shoulders and kissed his temple.

"Are you afraid he isn't fit to instruct the children?"

"No, it's not that.  I do not think he would do anything improper.  But I'm afraid. . . _for_ him, I guess, not of him.  He seems so desperately unhappy."  Ishmahri suddenly embraced Tatsuya tightly and brushed his lips against the Dragovian's neck.

"Oh!"  Tatsuya seemed surprised by the display of affection, but he immediately bent his head and caught Ishmahri's mouth with his own.  After they kissed, the Dragovian murmured, "I believe you could make anyone happy."

"Well, I shan't be making him happy _this_ way," Ishmahri replied, flushing.

"Only me?"  Tatsuya sounded delighted.

"Of course.  Only you."  He leaned up on his toes to kiss the Dragovian again, thinking, _I love you, already_.  As always, though, the thought was closely followed by the realization that it couldn't last.  People like Marcello, with no obligations, who found their way to Tryan Gully might stay forever. . . but Tatsuya and Ishmahri could not.

\--

Squirt did allow Marcello to attend dinner, though she sat beside him and watched him closely.  The next day, Marcello began his instruction of the young monsters; Raya kept a careful eye on the lesson and later confided to Ishmahri, with some surprise, that the ex-Templar had done an excellent job.

She and the other inhabitants of the Gully treated Marcello with the utmost respect, yet he warmed to none of them-- none except for Squirt.  In the days that followed, the little healslime became Marcello's constant companion, even after he was all but healed.  The only times Ishmahri saw the human smile were in reaction to something Squirt said or did.

Nevertheless, at times Marcello looked at Ishmahri with an unnerving intentness, a look the elf could not quite decipher.  It was not desire, at least not in a physical sense, but he seemed to want something from Ishmahri, something for which he shied away from asking.  Ishmahri suspected that Tatsuya had a lot to do with this reticence.  The Dragovian clearly disliked Marcello, and Ishmahri sensed what might have been a mutual jealousy between the two: Marcello jealous of Tatsuya's power, Tatsuya jealous of Marcello's hold on Ishmahri's concern.

They had been in Tryan Gully for nearly a fortnight when Tatsuya finally spoke of leaving.  It was mid-afternoon, and he and Ishmahri had gone for a walk down to the waterfalls near the Gully, where they sat alone on the nearby rocks.

"My dearest," Tatsuya murmured after they had admired the falling water in silence for several minutes.  "I have been away from the Dragovian Sanctuary for even longer than I had intended.  I'm afraid I must return tomorrow-- the council is probably furious with me as it is."

"I understand."  Ishmahri lowered his head unhappily.  "I'm sorry if being here with me has caused any trouble for you."

Tatsuya leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Ishmahri's chest from behind, planting kisses on his ear and the side of his face.  "Stop being so self-effacing.  You know you're worth all the trouble in the world."

Ishmahri leaned back against him, savoring Tatsuya's scent and the feeling of his strong arms.  "Will you come back to me on the next full moon?"

"I can do better than that."  Tatsuya gave his neck an open-mouthed caress, then murmured, "I want you to come with me."  
  
Ishmahri started.  "Come with you?  To. . . to the Sanctuary?"  
  
"Yes.  And I don't want to hear one word about you not being worthy or any similar nonsense."

"But is it even allowed?"  In spite of his concern, Ishmahri felt himself smiling with delight, and he closed his hand over Tatsuya's larger one which rested against Ishmahri's chest.

"My darling little moon elf, I am the Dragovian Lord, and you will be my guest.  The council will have no choice but to allow it."  Tatsuya chuckled lightly and rested his chin on Ishmahri's shoulder.  "If you wish to come, that is."  
  
"Of course I do."  Ishmahri leaned his temple against Tatsuya's golden hair.  "I. . . Nothing would make me happier than to see your home, and nothing would honor me more than to be your guest." 

Yet Ishmahri could not leave without satisfying his curiosity regarding Marcello: he _had_ to know what the human wanted from him.  After dinner that night, he went to the dwelling where Marcello was staying; he found the human alone, for Squirt had the duty of helping with the dishes that evening.  
  
The curtain in the dwelling's doorway was slightly askew, and Ishmahri pushed it aside without thinking he need knock.  Marcello was kneeling beside his pallet, his head bent and hands resting in his lap.  With a start, Ishmahri realized that the human was praying.

The elf quickly withdrew, feeling like more of an intruder than if he had seen Marcello unclothed.  He had suspected all along that Marcello had no religious feeling at all, despite his past.  Now, though, Ishmahri wondered if he had been wrong.

After a few moments, he peeked through the curtain again to find Marcello seated on his pallet, reading one of the books Raya kept in the Gully's small library.  Ishmahri tapped politely on the doorframe, entering only when he heard the human's brusque, "Enter."  
  
"Marcello," Ishmahri murmured when the human did not look up from his book.  Marcello flinched and raised his head quickly at the sound of the elf's voice.

"You. . . ."

"I came to bid you farewell," Ishmahri told him.  "I will be leaving the Gully tomorrow, so I do not know if we will meet again."  
  
Marcello laid down his book and folded his hands on his lap.  "I won't be seeking you out for another wish; you can count on that," he said with an amused bitterness.  "But provided there are no objections. . . I think I may stay here for some time.  So if you come back. . . ."

"There won't be any objections," Ishmahri said to cover his confusion at the rest of Marcello's words.  "The Gully welcomes anyone who wishes to live here, no matter what."  
  
"No matter what?"  A cynical smile crossed the human's pale lips.  "If you knew me better--"

"--it wouldn't matter," Ishmahri interrupted firmly.  "We would accept you all the same."  
  
"Hah."  Marcello rose and moved to stand before Ishmahri; he was taller than the elf and gazed down at him with eyes that were cold yet flashing with some indecipherable feeling.  "You'd accept one who betrayed those who were kind to him, who turned his back on the Goddess-- not that I ever ceased to believe in Her.  It was worse than that: I've always known She exists, and even so, I refused Her out of pride.  And I _almost_ succeeded."

"Marcello, you do not need to confess to me," Ishmahri said calmly.

"To whom then?" Marcello sneered.  "That imp in the church here?"

Ishmahri only shrugged.  "The Goddess already knows your sins, I'm sure.  So if you feel the need to confess to a mortal, it is to ease your own conscience-- and you would do better to seek out someone besides myself."

"Oh?  Who then, my wise Ishmahri?"

Ishmahri felt heat spread in his cheeks at the sarcastic epithet, but he forced himself to answer without emotion.  "If you feel you must earn your right to stay here-- then speak to Raya or yes, even the imp.  But if you wish to make amends for your past. . . seek out the boy in your memories."

Marcello's green eyes widened slightly, and he hissed, "Angelo. . . ."  Then the surprise disappeared, replaced by the sneer.  "How easily you speak of him.  But did your harp show you who he is to me?"  
  
"No."  Ishmahri shook his head even as his curiosity was stoked.  "I felt it would be trespassing to--"

The human interrupted him with bitter laughter as he stepped closer to Ishmahri, so close their clothes nearly touched.  "Who do you _think_ he is to me, then?"

Intellectually, Ishmahri knew better than to answer.  The conversation was pointless; Marcello was baiting him, and in such a way that he, Marcello, would only torture himself.  And yet, the elf spoke nonetheless.

"He is someone you love deeply," he murmured.  "And yet, you despise him, because. . . because he is the only one in whom you see yourself as you are.  The only one to be honest to you."

Marcello's lips parted, revealing his straight, white teeth in a smile of self-loathing.  "Yes, quite perceptive.  But it's much worse than that."

"Do you think it matters to me that he is a man?" Ishmahri asked, searching the wounded green eyes out of some insane desire to understand the tortured human.  "You won't shock me with that."

"Of course not, I've seen _your_ lover.  It isn't that."  Ishmahri felt the heat return to his cheeks, then ignite his flesh to the tips of his ears in a blaze when Marcello suddenly grasped his shoulders and pulled the elf against him, pressing his mouth to Ishmahri's right ear.

" _He is my brother,_ " Marcello hissed.  "The blood of the same father flows in our cursed veins, though our mothers were different."

"Your brother. . . ."  Ishmahri's eyes widened, seeing nothing.  That explained the faint resemblance-- not of hair or eye color, in features or in the shape of their faces, but a resemblance of bearing, of arrogance and pride and desperate _need_.

"Yes!"  Marcello seemed to be enjoying himself, taking pleasure in the shock he imagined he gave Ishmahri both from his words and the way he held the elf to him.  "He robbed me of _everything_ , even of my chance to die, and I hate him for it-- but I also love him as I could never love anyone else."

Ishmahri had simultaneous urges to pull away from the human's grip, his intensity, and to give in to it.  In the end, he made no move at all, but stood still and red-faced, saying only, "Even so, you are welcome here."  
  
"Mmn."  Marcello paused, then whispered again, his breath warm on Ishmahri's ear.  "But I should still confess this to _him_?  To tell my little brother how I lust for him, the things I want to do to him?"

"You should tell him how you love him."  Ishmahri spoke as calmly as ever, somehow suppressing his own emotion: not the revulsion he supposed he was expected to feel, but unnerving prurience.  Marcello's desire was palpable and infectious, and only thoughts of Tatsuya kept Ishmahri from reacting to it.

"Hrmph."  Marcello suddenly let go of Ishmahri, turning away from him.  "I doubt I shall ever get the opportunity."  He lowered himself again to his pallet before finally turning his gaze back up to the elf.  "You take care though.  And. . . thank you."  He seemed to be forcing the words from his lips.

"For what?"  Ishmahri's voice sounded hoarser than he intended.  "For listening to this 'confession'?  Or for granting the wish that caused you such pain?"

"Both.  And for this: Angelo _was_ the only one to be honest to me," Marcello growled.   "But then I met you."


	5. Chapter 5

Ishmahri saw Marcello once more, at breakfast the next morning.  The human watched him with a dark smile, as if daring Ishmahri to reveal their conversation to anyone else.  The elf, however, did not speak of it to anyone, not even to Tatsuya; Marcello's desires were not for him to reveal.

Raya walked with Ishmahri and Tatsuya out of the Gully onto the forested peninsula of land just beyond.

"I hope you don't take my brother away forever," she chided Tatsuya, looking up at the Dragovian-- who was more than twice her height-- with a smirk. . . a smirk that had an edge to it.  "He went a century without visiting me, and _that_ was when he was single."

Tatsuya only laughed lightly.  "Of course not, I don't _control_ him."

Raya only gave him a skeptical look, and when they reached the clearing from where Tatsuya and Ishmahri would depart, she took both her brother's hands in hers.

"Be careful, Isyu-kun," she said earnestly.  Her attitude made Ishmahri worry a little-- maybe he _was_ too eager to follow Tatsuya, to give in to his wishes.  After all, a life of granting wishes would leave one too acquiescent, perhaps.  But then he looked up at Tatsuya, and the worried look on the Dragovian's stern face consoled him.  Tatsuya was still vulnerable as when they had first met.  _If I left him, it would devastate him,_ Ishmahri realized.  _I have power over him, too._

"I will take care, Raya," Ishmahri assured her, leaning down to embrace her.  "And I will return to visit near the end of next month."  
  
"Good, then you can check up on Marcello."  Raya shook her pink head wonderingly.  "I think you and Squirt are the only two he'll listen to."  She left them then after a final farewell.  When they were alone, Ishmahri turned to Tatsuya.

"I assume our means of travel will include flight," the elf said with a little smile to mask the slight apprehension he felt: he presumed that Tatsuya would take on his dragon form to return quickly to his homeland, a form Ishmahri had never seen.

Tatsuya's expression mirrored Ishmahri's nervousness.  "I had intended that, but. . . ."  He lowered his head slightly, no longer meeting the elf's eyes.  "But now I worry I may frighten you. . . or that you will find me unattractive in that form."

"Tatsuya!"  Ishmahri went to the Dragovian and put his arms about him.  "I know you would never hurt me, so what reason have I to be frightened?"  Then, more softly, he went on, "And I could never find you repulsive, no matter what you looked like.  Besides, I have heard what magnificent creatures dragons are-- and you must be the most beautiful of dragons."

"I hope you're right."  Tatsuya stroked Ishmahri's hair a moment, then brushed his lips against the elf's forehead before stepping away from him.  Tatsuya lifted his staff to hold it up before him, his eyes closed and his head inclined.  As Ishmahri watched, the Dragovian's left hand glowed a phosphorescent violet, then Tatsuya slammed the end of his staff on the ground hard, making the rings on its top rattle.

Even without his harp, Ishmahri could feel the raw power washing off of his lover as Tatsuya was obscured in a bright, white light.  For someone as sensitive as the elf, witnessing the transformation was almost painful, and he closed his eyes against the light, which flared red through his closed eyelids.  He felt his hair blown back by a wind which sprung from the Dragovian's transforming figure.

When the light had faded somewhat, Ishmahri opened his eyes.  He drew in his breath at the sight of the dragon before him-- Tatsuya was indeed magnificent.  He was also gigantic, towering far above the short elf, and the membranous wings that sprouted from his back reached even higher.  His scales were the same color as the tips of his ears in human form: a deep, purplish maroon.

"Ishmahri," the great dragon murmured fearfully.  His voice was a deep rumble, far different from Tatsuya's human voice-- yet Ishmahri recognized his lover in it.

"You're beautiful," the elf said, a little hoarsely, as he took a step towards Tatsuya.  "I. . . I don't deserve--"

"Nonsense!" Tatsuya chuckled, relief plain in his voice and the expression of his eyes.  He stretched out his neck to touch the tip of his snout to Ishmahri's hand.  The elf ran his fingertips over the smooth scales, so different from Tatsuya's humanoid skin, then he leaned down and pressed his lips to the bridge of the dragon's nose.

"Yes, you are the same Tatsuya," Ishmahri declared with a little smile as he straightened.  "Just. . . bigger."

"Fortunately, because it saves you the trouble of walking all the way to the Dragovian Sanctuary."  Tatsuya lowered his head to the ground, clearing a pathway to his back.  "Climb on."  
  
"Oh!"  Ishmahri approached the dragon's broad back, trying to figure out the least awkward way to mount.  Finally, after making sure that no one could see, he hiked his robe up about his thighs and scrambled up onto Tatsuya's shoulders.

"Goodness!" the elf exclaimed.  "I have to say, when we first met, I never expected to be riding you. . . ."

"Well, since I haven't been able to convince you to ride me in the other sense, this will have to do," Tatsuya said wryly.  Ishmahri felt his ears flame in a deep blush.

Tatsuya crouched and spread his vast wings on either side of Ishmahri.

"Hold on," the dragon called back to him, then he launched himself into the air by simultaneously pushing upward with his muscular legs and beating his wings downward.  Ishmahri gritted his teeth and threw his arms around Tatsuya's neck as his stomach seemed to turn over.

"Are you all right?" Tatsuya asked, apparently feeling how tightly Ishmahri was gripping him.

"Y-yes," Ishmahri managed to reply, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.  He kept his eyes closed as he felt himself and the dragon rise higher, the vast hand of gravity and inertia pressing downward against the jerky upward motion that occurred every time Tatsuya beat his wings.  Each beat also produced a gust of wind that caught Ishmahri's hair and whipped it about his head, making the experience even more turbulent.

Finally, though, Tatsuya ceased to lift them further upward, and Ishmahri felt the dragon moving only in a forward motion.  The steady beating of his wings also ceased, leaving only a gentle flap every now and then.  Ishmahri finally opened his eyes, though without letting go of Tatsuya's neck.

The elf's head was turned downward, and the first things he saw were some very tiny trees, very far below him.  He bit back a squeak and gripped the dragon's scales in his fists in an involuntary response before forcing himself to evaluate the situation logically.  Tatsuya's shoulders, which Ishmahri was astride, were quite broad, and Ishmahri would have to move considerably to one side or the other if he were to be in any danger of falling off.

Ishmahri's nervousness abated-- at least a little-- when he reminded himself of that, and he was finally able to force himself to sit up, now bracing his hands against the base of Tatsuya's neck rather than clinging to it.  He saw that Tatsuya was gliding through the air like a hawk, his great wings spread wide and almost motionless.  As Ishmahri watched, the dragon twitched them in order to keep himself aloft on the air currents, then held them steady again.

When Ishmahri allowed himself to relax, he understood the gloriousness of the sensation of flying.  In the air, he felt as far removed from the cares of the corporeal world as he did in the realm of the Moonshadow.  It was almost as if he and Tatsuya were the only two beings in existence.  Ishmahri could feel the dragon's powerful muscles shift beneath him with each twitch of Tatsuya's wings, making him imagine that they were one being, joined together.  The bliss of that thought chased all worries from Ishmahri's mind: his thoughts of Marcello, of Raya's implied disapproval of Tatsuya, of Ishmahri's own concerns about the feasibility of a relationship with the Dragovian. . . all vanished.

They did not speak on the journey; Ishmahri was unsure anyway that Tatsuya could have heard him clearly over the rush of the wind as it passed them.  Instead, Ishmahri watched the ocean move beneath them once they had left behind the small peninsula at whose base Tryan Gully rested.  The desecrated island of Neos crawled into sight then away as Tatsuya flew northeast, towards the other continent.

The coast of the eastern continent moved under them in a blur, a thin ochre ribbon of sand followed by the lumpy fabric of forests.  As they neared the city of Ascantha, Ishmahri wondered if any of the humans or monsters there would look up in amazement at the dragon's passing, but he supposed it didn't matter even if they did: he was utterly safe with Tatsuya.  No physical attack could harm them, and for now, no mental pain could reach them.

After they passed Ascantha, Tatsuya approached then circled a nearby mountaintop on which was erected a stone platform.  He spread his wings, the left held lower than the right, and glided inward toward it in a smooth arc, then landed; Ishmahri was jolted slightly when the dragon's feet came in contact with the stone.

"I may travel the rest of the way in my human form," Tatsuya told him.  The dragon knelt, bowing his head so that his neck was lowered enough for Ishmahri to dismount.  "Although I enjoy having you for a passenger, my dear."

"Honestly, I feel rather as if I've taken advantage of you," Ishmahri chuckled.  He slid down from Tatsuya's shoulders and straightened his robes and hair self-consciously.

"Nonsense!  It was my pleasure."  Tatsuya lifted his head and gave what Ishmahri assumed was a smile, albeit a rather toothy one.  The dragon was then enveloped in the same wash of white light as before, although this time the painful brightness only lasted for an instant as Tatsuya's massive form contracted into a human shape once more.

When Ishmahri's dazzled eyes had recovered, he saw instead of a dragon the beautiful man he had come to love, still carrying his staff.  Tatsuya slipped his arms around the elf and pressed his lips to Ishmahri's hair.

"And to think I intended to abandon this form forever," Tatsuya murmured.  "To never be able to hold you. . . it's unthinkable."  He withdrew from Ishmahri with apparent reluctance, then pointed at a nearby stone pillar with his staff; the pillar bore the Dragovian emblem.

"Very few have the power to unlock this gateway to the Dragovian Sanctuary," Tatsuya explained, then smiled faintly.  "I thought it was the only passage between my world and this one, until I discovered the window to your own realm."

Ishmahri examined the pillar, then looked at Tatsuya in surprise.  "There is a Moonshadow Window within the Sanctuary?"  
  
The Dragovian grinned.  "You didn't know either, I take it."  He squeezed Ishmahri's shoulder, then laid his hand on the pillar's emblem.  "I'll have to show you when it's time for you to return to your world."

At Tatsuya's touch, the emblem glowed.  Like the light that had surrounded the Dragovian himself, this glow blinded Ishmahri's eyes for a moment, and when he next looked, the stone platform had disappeared, leaving them instead in a cavern.

"Follow me," Tatsuya told him, taking Ishmahri's hand.

As Tatsuya led him through the caves, Ishmahri saw many powerful monsters in the shadows around them; yet, the creatures cowered, keeping much distance between the pair and themselves, never once attacking.  _They must fear Tatsuya greatly,_ Ishmahri thought, _or at least respect him.  The hipster who attacked him must have been foolish indeed._

After they had walked some distance, Ishmahri noticed paintings on the walls of the cave.  One depicted a seated man before whom many other figures knelt.  Judging from the pinkness of the robe the man wore, Ishmahri had a good idea of who it was.

"You must be highly venerated," murmured Ishmahri.  Tatsuya followed his gaze and flushed slightly.

"I forgot about those paintings," he chuckled in some embarrassment.  "They are meant to record our history, in case our Sanctuary should ever be lost. . .  but I wish the artists hadn't made me quite such a prominent figure in them."

Something about the paintings made Ishmahri apprehensive.  Even though he had known, intellectually, the position Tatsuya held as Lord of the Dragovians, Ishmahri had never been able to reconcile it with the playful, caring man he loved.  The figure in the paintings seemed cold and forbidding-- not like Ishmahri's Tatsuya at all.  Perhaps it was only the difference between how Tatsuya's subjects viewed him and how a lover did, but it caused Ishmahri to wonder how those subjects would react to _him_ , the only one towards whom Tatsuya was so gentle and kind.

Tatsuya led Ishmahri through a labyrinth of passageways, up to a great gate which opened at his touch.  He stepped aside and gestured for Ishmahri to enter first.

"I believe you are the first elf to ever pass through this gate," the Dragovian murmured as he followed Ishmahri inside, closing the gate behind him.  With some apprehension, Ishmahri looked along the rocky pathway which led to the Sanctuary's small village.

"I hope your people will not feel disturbed by my presence," Ishmahri fretted.

"Of course not," Tatsuya said an in an off-handed way as he started up the path.  "And anyway, you're practically my consort-- they have to accept you."

His words were far from comforting, and Ishmahri felt himself frown as he hesitated there at the gate.  Tatsuya apparently spoke without even thinking, which made it all the worse-- he was assuming so much.

 _I don't want them to **have** to accept me,_ he thought.  _If I'm not welcome here, I don't want to be here at all._

As he finally followed Tatsuya up to the village, Ishmahri felt truly unhappy for the first time since he left the world of the Moonshadow.


	6. Chapter 6

The first Dragovian to notice Tatsuya's return was a young boy of perhaps twelve who was playing near the entrance of the Sanctuary.  He started to his feet and gave an awed bow of respect, although the Dragovian Lord was still at a distance-- but then, the young Dragovian saw Ishmahri, and the boy froze, staring.  After an instant, he bolted, disappearing into one of the huts nearby.

As Tatsuya and Ishmahri approached, other, adult Dragovians emerged from similar huts and the center of the settlement.  The reaction of each was the same: respectful and even joyous smiles to see their leader had returned safely. . . followed by open gawking at the stranger who accompanied him.  Out of discomfort, Ishmahri clenched his hands inside his sleeves and hoped he wasn't blushing.

The crowd murmured but hung back a little, none daring to speak directly to Tatsuya until a short, elderly man stepped forward.  He was rather odd-looking, with a spiky tuft of hair almost resembling a mohawk and a goatee, yet his pointed ears marked him as a Dragovian.

"Welcome, our Lord," he said to Tatsuya, bowing deeply.  "We are pleased that you have returned to us."

"Thank you, Chen Mui," Tatsuya replied pleasantly, although he cast a stern eye at the rest of his people. Chen Mui then turned to Ishmahri and, to the elf's amazement, gave him a warm smile.

"And welcome to you as well, honored guest of the Dragovian Lord," the little man offered with another bow.

"Th-thank you," Ishmahri murmured.  He inclined his head in response, unable to keep from smiling back a little if only out of sheer relief that one Dragovian wasn't treating him like a kind of elfin monster.

"I must introduce my guest to the rest of the council," Tatsuya announced; although he spoke to Chen Mui, the crowd parted immediately, opening the way into the Sanctuary.  Tatsuya led Ishmahri through the staring Dragovians and past the cluster of huts, toward a larger building crowning a small cliff before them.

"That is the building where the Elders hold council," Tatsuya explained to Ishmahri in a murmur.  "My rooms are also located there."

"I. . . have to meet the Elders now?" Ishmahri breathed.

"Don't let my people's reaction concern you, my dear," Tatsuya reassured him as they walked up a steep incline leading to the council building's entrance.  "It's only that you're the first elf to visit us."  He put his hand on Ishmahri's back to guide him into the building; his touch was comforting, yet Ishmahri imagined the eyes of everyone in the village on them, looking and wondering.

Ishmahri walked into the building with some trepidation, Tatsuya and Chen Mui following close behind him.  The room was circular with staircases set into the floor and leading downward on two sides of the circle.  In the middle at a round table sat several short, elderly Dragovians: two men and two women.  Chen Mui darted spryly past Tatsuya and Ishmahri and approached the four, who looked up in surprise.

"Fellow Elders, our Lord has returned," the old man said with a bow, though less of one than he had given Tatsuya and Ishmahri.  The others got to their feet immediately to pay homage to Tatsuya-- though they too looked curiously at Ishmahri.

"Greetings."  Tatsuya nodded at them, then put a hand on Ishmahri's arm and drew him forward.  "This is Ishmahri, keeper of the Moonshadow Realm.  He has been kind enough to welcome me to his Realm and to take me to visit Tryan Gully.  In return, I have invited him to visit us here."

"Greetings, Ishmahri," one of the old ladies said, then was echoed by the others.  After another round of bowing, Tatsuya gestured them to return to their chairs.

"We won't keep you any longer," he said elegantly.  "We've had a long journey, and I'm sure Ishmahri wants to rest."

"Of course."  Chen Mui, again, was the only one who reacted warmly.  "Ishmahri, will you and our Lord honor me by taking breakfast at my house tomorrow morning?"  
  
"Certainly, I'd love to!" Ishmahri said sincerely, grateful for the amiable old man's kindness.

"I do have an ulterior motive for the invitation," Chen Mui added with a wink.  "I have quite a few questions about the Moonshadow Realm."

Ishmahri smiled.  "I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you very much, Chen Mui."  Tatsuya smiled as well.  "We'll be there tomorrow morning."  He took Ishmahri down one of the staircases and deeper into the building through a narrow corridor, gesturing at an ornate door as they passed.

"These are my own rooms," he told Ishmahri with a little smile.  "You _can_ share my rooms, you know. . . but I thought you might wish to relax in privacy as well."

Ishmahri felt his face grow hot, this time with pleased embarrassment.  "Y-yes, I. . . think that might be best."  His own smile faded a little.  "I don't think the Elders approve of my being here, and if I slept in your rooms--"

"Darling, I told you. . . _my_ approval of you is what counts."  He stopped at another carven door and unlocked it with a key resting in the keyhole.  Tatsuya handed the key to Ishmahri, then pushed the door open.  "These will be yours, for as long as you wish to stay here."

Ishmahri walked in tentatively, staring in surprise at the elegance of the chambers, especially in comparison to the stark, desert-like atmosphere he had noticed throughout the rest of the Sanctuary.  The room's palette was still arid, a pale yellow that better suited Tatsuya than Ishmahri, but the bed was draped with layers of maroon fabric, and the furniture scattered about was as elaborately carved as the door.

"It's beautiful," Ishmahri murmured.  "For a place that has few guests, you certainly treat us well!"  
  
"Actually. . . ."  For the first time that day, Tatsuya seemed a little embarrassed himself.  "The council had this suite outfitted for the time that I would choose a bride."  He flushed a bit, but then he looked at Ishmahri again and smiled.

\--

Ishmahri spent the last two weeks until the full moon there in the Dragovian Sanctuary.  Though he spent time with the Dragovians daily-- dining with the Elders, touring the settlement with Chen Mui and Tatsuya, or simply observing the community's daily life-- he never grew to feel comfortable around them.  Only Tatsuya and Chen Mui seemed to accept him; the others, he felt, were always watching him askance, wondering about him.

 _It is because of Tatsuya,_ Ishmahri thought as he sat in his rooms on the afternoon of the full moon.  Even though he was saddened at the thought of leaving Tatsuya that evening to return to the Moonshadow Realm, he also felt guiltily relieved at the promise of escape from the Sanctuary's constant scrutiny.  _Even though he has never told them, the Elders at least must suspect that I am his lover.  If I were just an elfin visitor, they might not mind me-- but they think I am a man and a foreigner taking their Lord away from some Dragovian bride._

Ishmahri raised his head to look at his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall across from where he sat on the bed.  Here, even his own face seemed alien.  _And they're right.  No matter what I feel, or even what Tatsuya feels, I can't come between him and his people. . . ._

Abruptly, he remembered Marcello.  He had not thought of the human much since leaving Tryan Gully, but staring into his own eyes, Ishmahri saw the tortured green gaze of Marcello once more.  _Marcello would understand. . . Marcello who also loves someone forbidden to him._   Ishmahri dropped his head into his delicate hands, anything to break his gaze into the mirror.  _Goddess protect him-- save him from having to be the one to make the choice of loneliness._

"Ishmahri?" Tatsuya's low voice and his gentle tap on the door made the elf look up. 

"Yes?  The door is unlocked. . . ."

The Dragovian Lord opened the door slowly and looked in.  "Are you occupied?  I'd like for you to take a walk with me."

"O-of course."  Ishmahri rose and went to him, finding it difficult to meet Tatsuya's eyes.  _What do I tell him-- that I won't come back to him after I leave tonight?  Do I tell him anything at all?_

Tatsuya led him down a hallway they hadn't walked before, one that connected to the others below the Elders' hall.  At its end, a guard stood beside a large door; he nodded respectfully to Tatsuya as they approached, then glanced at Ishmahri with an air of masked surprise.  Tatsuya ignored the look and passed serenely through the door after the guard opened it.  Ishmahri was compelled to follow.

The door led outside, into surprisingly bright sunshine and dry heat.  Before them was a narrow path that hung completely in the sky with no visible means of support beneath it; looking back, Ishmahri saw only a bare stone wall, into which the door was set.  It was impossible to tell from that wall that a thriving settlement lay beyond.

Tatsuya took Ishmahri's hand and walked with him along a maze of the floating pathways; as confusing as the many turns and twists were to Ishmahri, the newcomer, Tatsuya drifted along them with familiarity.  The path he ultimately chose took them eventually upward, between the very clouds as they climbed into the sky.  Ishmahri risked a look down once, but he could see no ground, not even far below them.  Anything that might be miles under their feet was obscured by haze and more clouds.

They did not speak; Ishmahri felt it was pointless to ask where they were going-- he would find out eventually, after all-- and Tatsuya seemed content with his silence.  At one point, they mounted a set of stairs that appeared to be carved from stone, but after taking another path some distance, they arrived at the path's apex with no apparent means of ascending farther.

But then something above them caught Ishmahri's eyes, something like a reflection there among the clouds.  When he turned his head a little, shifting his line of vision, he realized that there were stairs there-- nearly invisible, as if carved out of crystal or transparent ice. . . maybe out of the sky itself.  As alien as the light and heat were to him, the stairs seemed almost familiar, as if they might have belonged in the Moonshadow Realm; Ishmahri felt nearly happy as he climbed them, not minding that he could see nothing but a slight glint supporting him.

At the top of the stairs was another door, and beyond this was their destination: a flat plain suspended by nothing, over nothing, like the top of a plateau somehow separated from its base.  It was also a place filled with memories and emotions, so strong that Ishmahri felt he could bring them to life simply by wishing it, without any music at all.  It gave him the same feeling he'd had when he looked on Tatsuya's dragon form.

"This is the Heavenly Dais," Tatsuya said quietly, the first time he had spoken since they left the Sanctuary.

"It's beautiful," Ishmahri murmured.  It _was_ beautiful, for all its starkness, and he marveled at the view of sky and clouds about them as he walked to its center.

"I wanted you to come here," Tatsuya went on, coming to stand beside him, "because this is the place where I made my greatest mistake, where I tried to undergo the ritual to abandon my human form entirely.  Fortunately, I failed in that endeavor-- but it still shames me to remember."

"Then why bring me here?" asked Ishmahri gently, looking up in consternation at the unhappy expression on Tatsuya's face.

"Because I. . . I want you to see my faults, dearest."  Tatsuya turned to him and clasped Ishmahri's hands in his.  "I am not perfect."

"No being is, save the Goddess Herself," Ishmahri replied.  "Tatsuya, do not be ashamed.  Even without my harp, I can feel from the memories of this place that you did what you thought was best.  You have changed since then."

"Yes. . . you have changed me."  Tatsuya slid his hands up Ishmahri's arms, then brought them to rest against his jaws.  "When the humans came to challenge and defeat me, I realized I had been wrong-- but when I met _you_ , I realized _why_ : because love knows no race, no age. . . no world.  A Dragovian ventured into the human world, and her union with it should never have been denied.  And if a Dragovian wishes to unite with the world of the Moonshadow. . . ."

"Tatsuya--" Ishmahri began, without any idea of what he would say, only a sense of mourning as he recalled all he had thought back in his rooms, recalled Marcello's tortured gaze in his own eyes.

"Ishmahri," the Dragovian went on insistently, "I brought you here to tell you that I love you, and to ask if you will accept me for all of my faults, my arrogance and selfishness."

"Accept you?" whispered Ishmahri, staring up into the eyes that looked down at him pleadingly.

"I want to marry you."  Tatsuya dropped his hands to rest on Ishmahri's shoulders.

"You can't."  The words came as simply as that, no preamble, no hesitation.  They surprised Ishmahri himself, but he was also grateful that they were said.  Tatsuya was physically jolted, his eyes-- the color of the bleached sky surrounding them-- opening wide.  He obviously hadn't expected a refusal.  _Because probably, no one has ever refused him before-- no one except the humans who challenged him to regain his own humanity._

"I'm sorry," Ishmahri whispered.  "I love you-- like I've loved no other.  And I _will_ love you, always-- but I can't be your. . . your bride."

Tatsuya's eyes darted over Ishmahri's face, searching it.  There was no anger in them-- for that Ishmahri was grateful-- only utter bewilderment.  "But. . . but why not?  My people--"

"Your people understand what we refused to see."  Ishmahri had to look away; he could already feel his resolve melting into pain.  "Perhaps two races _can_ unite-- a Dragovian and a human, or even a Dragovian and an elf.  But not if the Dragovian is their Lord, and the elf is a man.  Tatsuya-- you have a duty to your race, and my duty is to make you uphold it."

Tatsuya made an affronted noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh.  "You think this, you saying no, will make me marry a Dragovian girl and reproduce?  Create another Dragovian Lord or Lady to rule absolutely and keep our race in the past, in the dark?"  He too turned away, letting go of Ishmahri to fold his arms almost protectively.  "Without you, I'll have no bride."

"That is up to you-- but at least that way, I won't be the one standing in your way."

" _Ishmahri!_ "  His name sounded in what was nearly a roar.

" _No!_ "  They both stopped short and stared at one another, both surprised, at Ishmahri's cry.  "Take me to the Moonshadow Window," Ishmahri went on hoarsely after a moment.  "I will wait there for midnight."

Tatsuya looked at him with even the bewilderment gone from his face.  Now there was only resignation.  "All right," he finally said.

They were as silent leaving the Heavenly Dais as they had been arriving.  Tatsuya traced the pathways back the way they had come until they had descended the set of stone stairs; then, he took another turn which led them a different way.  At the end of that new path, Ishmahri found a rocky outcropping into which wind or water had worn an arched opening.  Brittle branches of dead shrubbery crisscrossed it haphazardly.

"This is the Moonshadow Window," Tatsuya said huskily.  "No monsters dare approach it, so you will be safe."  He gave Ishmahri one last resigned look, then turned away with no last begging, not even an "Are you sure?"  Ishmahri's whole being ached for him, and only one thought kept him firm: _Thousands of humans have felt this, and worse.  I can endure it too._

And then, Tatsuya paused.  He did not turn or even glance back at Ishmahri, but he whispered, "If you ever change your mind. . . please, come back to me.  Even a thousand years from now, I'll be waiting for you."


	7. Chapter 7

Ishmahri sat alone, in silence, for nigh on seven hours before the moon rose and cast its light through the rocky arch, coaxing the Moonshadow Window into existence.  The Moonshadow Realm seemed deathly quiet as Ishmahri stepped through the Window.  All of the elements that usually brought him peace-- the cascades of falling water, the circling moons, the glistening pathway-- now were like totems of the dead, of a life spent in loneliness and a future that held only the same.

_But I've done the right thing,_ Ishmahri thought as he trudged up the pathway to his pavilion.  _I was meant to be alone-- if I cannot be with him._

The sight of the Moonshadow Harp, waiting for him in the pavilion, comforted him.  Ishmahri picked up and caressed its strings lovingly, causing an array of memory-sparks to rise briefly into being before fading as the notes fell silent.

_Will anyone come tonight?_ Ishmahri wondered as he turned to the pavilion's empty doorway.  No one had come last month except Tatsuya-- and he would never come again, Ishmahri knew.  _He has too much pride to plead for me-- and too much respect for my wishes._

Ishmahri's wishes.  The thought was somehow ludicrous, almost obscene.  How dare the keeper of the Moonshadow Realm, the granter of all wishes, have a wish of his own?

"And a wish _you_ cannot grant," he whispered to the Harp.  "He knew it when he came here-- and so did I.  I knew it all along."

Still, he had his memories-- memories engrained in every fiber of his clothing, every cell of his body, and the very atoms of the world around him.  Ishmahri's fingertips brushed the strings of the harp again, now picking out a tune: coaxing first the melody from the harp, then joining it to an accompaniment.  And as he played, his own memories came to life, reenacting his first meeting with the Dragovian Lord: Tatsuya entering, looking about the Realm in wonder. . . asking Ishmahri to grant his wish with a kiss.  As Ishmahri watched their ghostly figures come together, his fingers numbly moving over his harp, tears fell unchecked down his cheeks.

"Ishmahri. . . ?"

Ishmahri's fingers stumbled, and the vision vanished in a discord of notes.  It was not Tatsuya's voice, but its owner surprised Ishmahri no less: a tall but slight young man with platinum-blond hair and blue eyes that could have turned warm or icy with equal ease.  He stood in the pavilion's doorway, staring.

"Angelo," Ishmahri breathed, nearly dropping the harp before fumbling to place it on its stand.  He wiped his eyes on his sleeve automatically, too prideless to care that the boy had seen him weep.

"You. . . remember me?"  Angelo entered the pavilion hesitantly, with a look of understandable confusion on his fine-featured face.

"Yes," murmured Ishmahri.  He might not have remembered Angelo's previous visit ordinarily, but the memory of Marcello violently kissing his vision was burned in Ishmahri's brain.

Angelo looked the elf up and down, then said archly, "Is this a bad time?"  Despite the attitude, though, Ishmahri could sense the young man's discomfort at the tears-- and possibly the vision of Tatsuya-- he had witnessed.

"No," Ishmahri said simply.  "Do you have a wish, my child?"

Angelo was silent a moment, moving his eyes from Ishmahri to focus on the Moonshadow Harp beside him.  "I don't know," he finally answered.  "Maybe.  I don't think you can help though."  His gaze flicked back to the elf.

"But what do you desire?" Ishmahri persisted with the feeling that no answer would surprise him anymore.

"I'm not sure-- that's the problem."  Angelo leaned against one of the dais's balustrades, arms folded and a puzzled expression on his downturned face.  "I'm not. . . satisfied I guess.  I've finally made myself useful to somebody-- I guess you can tell that by examining the memories of my hair ribbon of something-- but. . . I don't know."  He gave Ishmahri a sudden, belligerent look.  "You're the psychic moon elf-- _you_ tell _me_ what's wrong."

_Everyone always thinks **I** have the answers,_ Ishmahri thought mournfully, _while I'm full of more questions than they are._   Still, it was his duty to at least try to aid Angelo-- and to be honest, Ishmahri was curious about this boy Marcello both hated and loved.

Ishmahri took up the Harp again and began to play.  A few memories danced around them, but he felt many more: flirtations with a dozen girls; lessons to twice as many children with the curious feeling of displaced paternal love, Angelo providing for them what had been missing from his own life.

And then there was that gap, that blank void where something should have been.  Ishmahri nearly struck a false note when he glimpsed it, for it was unnatural: not something forgotten or simply never present.  It was something. . . removed.

_Marcello._

It was something Ishmahri could never understand, having always had a loving mother and sister-- yet he _must_ understand if he wanted to help Angelo, because this memory, pitilessly suppressed, was the reason for his discontent.

Ishmahri played faster, more deftly, and Angelo's faint gasp at the assault told the elf he had succeeded.  He saw only brief images, but they were enough: green eyes looking on Angelo with kindness, the only time they would ever do so.  A gloved hand struggling to free itself from Angelo's insistent grasp.  A ring which Ishmahri realized the boy still wore about his neck.  That was enough, and Ishmahri stopped playing.  Angelo was staring at him with an affronted expression, but he quickly hid it with the skeptical, irreverent look.

_What do I tell him?_ Ishmahri questioned himself as he gazed back.  _I know what will bring him peace-- the only way he'll ever be happy.  But it's also what is forbidden._   What right had Ishmahri to give Angelo the instructions which would violate everything the boy knew to be right?

But. . . what right had Ishmahri to damn two lonely people to a lifetime of misery apart?

"You have traveled to Tryan Gully before, haven't you?" Ishmahri questioned as he set the harp back on its stand.

"Tryan Gully?  Yes. . . ."  Angelo's look of jaded skepticism turned to true puzzlement.  _He probably thinks the batty old elf has finally lost it,_ Ishmahri concluded.

Ishmahri took a deep breath.  "You must return there for your wish to be granted."

"Go back to Tryan Gully?"  Angelo blinked.  "Why?  And-- I don't even know what my wish _is_."

"You will know when you arrive," Ishmahri murmured.  "You will find both your question-- and your answer."

Angelo straightened up, his gaze fixed now on the Moonshadow Harp rather than Ishmahri.  "That isn't how it's supposed to work," he said quietly.  "You're supposed to show me some pretty picture that fixes everything.  I can't go to Tryan Gully now-- I can't leave the orphanage."

Ishmahri looked too at the Harp, wishing as much as Angelo that a simple vision could grant any wish.  "Go when you can.  I do not think it will matter how long you wait."  _Because he'll be there, just like Tatsuya-- waiting for someone he thinks will never come._

"We'll see," Angelo finally said.  When Ishmahri turned back to him, the young man was looking at him once more.  "But whether or not it works. . . thank you."

No one else came that night, after Angelo left.  Ishmahri walked outside his pavilion and stood gazing up at the shifting moons, wondering if the boy _would_ return to Tryan Gully.  Whether or not he did, Ishmahri realized that he himself had done the right thing after all.

_I can't be the one to judge love-- only the Goddess has the right to do that. And if it is Her will, She'll bring them together.  Who am I to keep them apart?_

The moons circled overhead, and the hour of midnight drew to a close.  Ishmahri looked down at the Moonshadow Window, now closed from the outside world. . . but still open on his side, open to any one of a dozen places.  In one, Marcello prayed, slowly finding peace in his new life and in a little healslime who loved him.

And in another, the Dragovian Lord waited for his bride.

_Who am I,_ Ishmahri thought again, _to keep two lonely people apart?_

\--

Ishmahri carried his harp when he passed back through the Moonshadow Window near the Dragovian Sanctuary.  The moment he stepped through, the window once more became only an eroded rock, crossed with dead plant matter.

_Another month before I can return,_ Ishmahri thought, looking at it.  It gave him a slight feeling of panic: if he were, ultimately, making a mistake, he would have nowhere to go.  Still, there was no use of thinking of such things, not now-- the window was closed, for good or for ill.

The world slept as Ishmahri trod the suspended pathways leading back to the Sanctuary.  Even here, even a few moments past the moon's height, his power was enough to lull any living creature about him.  Thus, no monsters threatened him, and the guard at the Sanctuary's door was sleeping when Ishmahri entered.

Ishmahri found his way through the meandering corridors beneath the Sanctuary, then stopped outside the door to Tatsuya's rooms.  It was marked with the Dragovian Seal, the same as on Tatsuya's gaudy robe, and it reminded Ishmahri of everything he was not: not Dragovian, not the bride for whom Tatsuya's people had prepared.

_The Elders know it, as much as Raya did.  Tatsuya is the only one who **doesn't** seem to care what I am. . . ._   Ishmahri tilted his head back, looking at the carved head of the seal's dragon.  Two aquamarine jewels were set there as its eyes, eyes the color of the Dragonvian Lord's.  _And Tatsuya is the only one who matters._

Ishmahri had to use both of his delicate hands to manipulate the door's catch, but once it was free, the door opened with a gentle push.  When he had shut it behind him, blocking the light from the torches lining the corridor, Ishmahri found himself in a room quite similar to the bride's suite.  The chamber was lit only by a single small lantern hanging near the bed, but the light was enough to faintly illuminate Tatsuya's tall form sprawled amidst tangled sheets.

He was sleeping, Ishmahri saw as he moved noiselessly closer.  A shapeless, dark tunic covered the Dragovian's body, but that was all; he had even removed the circlet he wore about his forehead, allowing his straight hair to fall loose around him.  Ishmahri drew close to the bed and looked down on him, then knelt there beside him.  One of Tatsuya's hands lay protruding from the tousled of sheets; Ishmahri took it between his, stroking the skin which felt strangely soft for such a man.

"Tatsuya," Ishmahri murmured, bending to kiss the strong fingers.  When he raised his head, Tatsuya's eyes were already open, blinking as they focused on the elf's face.

"Ishmahri?" Tatsuya whispered drowsily, disbelievingly.  He reached up his hand and touched Ishmahri's cheek.  "You. . . came back?  Or am I dreaming?"

"You aren't dreaming."  Ishmahri covered the Dragovian's hand with his own.

Tatsuya slowly moved his hand from Ishmahri's cheek to the back of his head, lacing his fingers through the elf's long hair, then he hesitated as if he thought Ishmahri were no more substantial than a vision from the Moonshadow Harp and any further movement would break the spell.  Ishmahri himself was the one to lean forward, to touch his lips to the Dragovian's stern mouth.

Tatsuya's lips parted under Ishmahri's immediately, and the Dragovian suddenly pulled Ishmahri closer, apparently convinced that the elf was real after all.  He kissed Ishmahri hard, then finally pulled back just enough to whisper to him.

"Does this mean that you'll stay with me?"  
  
"Yes," Ishmahri breathed, turning his head to rest his forehead on the Dragovian's shoulder.  "I. . . was wrong."

"Oh?"  He felt Tatsuya kiss the tip of one ear.  "Duty isn't so important after all?"  Tatsuya tugged gently on Ishmahri's robe, coaxing him up into the bed.  Ishmahri's face flushed with heat, but he complied, lying back into the reclining Dragovian's arms.

"It isn't that.  Duty _is_ important. . . but I was wrong about what our duties _are_."  Ishmahri laid his head against Tatsuya's chest, near his heart.  "You have obligations to your people, and I to the wishers who come to my world-- but those obligations do not include a lifetime of loneliness."

"Mmn."  Tatsuya kissed his forehead, then lay back, drawing the sheets up around them both as Ishmahri pressed close to him.  "We can discuss obligations tomorrow.  You came back to me, my darling. . . nothing else matters now."

Ishmahri closed his eyes, breathing Tatsuya's scent and feeling the surprising warmth of his chest against his cheek.  Both seemed fragile when he thought about how close he had come to giving them up.

"You don't want to know what made me change my mind?" he murmured after a moment.

"No."  Tatsuya's arms tightened about him.  "I only want to know thing: will you be my bride?"

"Yes," said Ishmahri.

They were married in two ceremonies: one in the Dragovian Sanctuary, officiated by Chen Mui. . . and the other by Marcello in Tryan Gully.  Although it took most Dragovians several years to fully accept Ishmahri, he was patient.  Both he and Tatsuya had all the time they needed.  Even when they were apart, when Ishmahri returned to his own realm, the elf never again felt the loneliness which had once plagued him.  All he could ever wish had been granted.


	8. Epilogue

Angelo thought often of Ishmahri's cryptic answer to his discontent: return to Tryan Gully.  _But what's there for **me**?_ he wondered over the next few weeks, in the few spare moments he got from his work at the orphanage.  That cute elf girl lived in the Gully, of course, but there were plenty of other cute girls who _weren't_ half a world away.  Angelo told himself the idea of traveling to the Gully was ridiculous, that Ishmahri didn't know what he was talking about or had even just made something up in an attempt to appear wise.

And yet, Angelo couldn't put the idea out of his mind.  Part of his fixation was due to curiosity, but a greater part was because he was still. . . bored?  Dissatisfied?  Lonely?  As fulfilling as it was to see the faces of his young charges, knowing he had blessed them with all the happiness his own childhood had lacked. . . it wasn't enough.

Another full moon had come and gone before Angelo made up his mind and prepared for the journey to the Gully, booking passage on a ship that would take him fairly close to his destination.  He left the orphanage in charge of his two assistants (both female, of course, and both very eager to prove themselves worthy of his faith in them) and set off one morning in the late autumn.

At first, as Angelo stood on the ship's deck and watched the land receding behind them, he wished he had waited to undertake the voyage in the spring instead; it was already quite cold.  However, the further south they traveled, the warmer it got, and the climate was quite pleasant by the time he disembarked on a deserted coastline.  The ship's crew, not to mention the other passengers, were flummoxed at his choice of ports, but Angelo let them think him eccentric: Tryan Gully was not yet on any maps, and Angelo had a feeling he should keep it that way.

Fortunately, he still had his own maps, copies of those made by King Trode's party on their journey.  Angelo found his way without difficulty and was soon treading across the wooden bridge that connected the hidden Gully with the outside world.

The small settlement seemed strangely quiet as Angelo entered; he thought there was no one around at all until the sound of a small voice clearing its throat made him look down.  A rather sullen-looking cureslime was glaring up at him.

"Can I help you?" it asked.

"Erm, I'm just. . . visiting," Angelo answered lamely.  "Where is everyone?"

"It's the Sabbath," the cureslime replied with the air of someone whose patience was being severely tried.  "They're in the chapel."

"Oh. . . right."  Angelo had completely forgotten the day.

"You may attend the service if you wish," the slime went on, waving a tentacle in the direction of the chapel.  "Just don't disturb anyone when you enter, since you're _late_."  It floated off in a huff, not explaining why it itself wasn't in church.

_I might as well,_ Angelo thought as he walked to the small building.  _Although if that elf sent me all the way here to go to church. . . ._

He paused outside the chapel door; he could hear the priest's voice intoning within, though Angelo couldn't make out the words spoken.  Years of religious training had engrained a strong aversion to interrupting a service-- but then he realized what had made him pause in the first place.  There was a strange familiarity to the voice Angelo heard from inside, something about the cadence of the words and the tone in which they were spoken.

The possibility that the voice could belong to Marcello was so outlandish, Angelo's conscious mind rejected it, even though he _knew_ , knew as soon as the sound fell upon his ears.  Even when his mind did comprehend it, Angelo mistrusted his own judgment.

But still, there was no question now about whether or not he would look inside.  Angelo lifted the catch of the chapel door as quietly as he could and opened the heavy door just enough to see through the crack it left. . . just enough to make sure that his ears had not deceived him.

_No_ , Angelo thought as he stared through the crack, _not Marcello, not **here** , lecturing to a bunch of monsters._  But it was the truth.  Just as he would have known his half-brother's voice in any place, at any time, Angelo knew every detail, every angular line and deceptive curve of the figure upon the chancel.  Angelo's throat tightened as his eyes moved over Marcello, who went on with the service unaware.

Marcello looked far better than when Angelo had seen him last, now healed with a clearness in his eyes and voice Angelo couldn't remember noticing for years and years.  He wore a simple robe, kimono-like, instead of the trappings of Templar or priest, yet he seemed more elegant, more handsome than ever before.  Most of all, he looked content; the self-loathing his face had worn at the last was gone.  Even if there was no true happiness on his face, there was at least none of the power-mad, ravening joy Angelo had come to expect.

_He probably won't ever be happy,_ Angelo thought, _but he's satisfied-- even lecturing to a bunch of monsters.  That's more than **I** am._

Angelo drew back from the door and closed it again before Marcello had a chance to spot him.  ( _Now **that** would be an interruption of the service,_ Angelo thought with a dismal sort of humor.)  He took a staggering step towards the path, then stopped again and leaned his back against the chapel wall.

_Is this what Ishmahri meant-- that it would grant my wish to find him here?_   Maybe so-- Angelo realized that it _did_ fulfill some kind of desire in him to see Marcello there, alive and relatively healthy.  _He's all right, in spite of everything. . . so now I can go home and be satisfied with my life?_   Angelo scowled.  If that was what Ishmahri had intended, the elf was certainly far off the mark.

_Still, I should leave_.  _He seems to have made a new life for himself, if he lives here or even if he's just visiting.  He doesn't need me turning up and ruining things for him. . . again._

Nevertheless, Angelo had not moved by the time the doors creaked open and the first monsters emerged from the service.  He looked up as a few drifted past him, some staring at him, the stranger, in surprise while others ignored him completely.  No one spoke to him, though, until a pink-haired elfin girl, small even for her race, stepped out with a huge Gigantes.  _Raya,_ Angelo remembered-- the cute one.  She glanced up at him, then blinked in surprise.

"Oh, are you a visitor?" she asked.

"Uh, yes, I just arrived," Angelo replied, beginning to get a little tired of explaining himself.  "I. . . didn't want to interrupt the service."

"That's very thoughtful of you."  She put out a small hand.  "I am Raya," she began, then she stopped and looked at him more closely as he took her hand and kissed it.  "Ah, but you've been here before, haven't you?  I remember you, but not, I'm afraid, your name."

"It's Angelo-- and I am flattered to be remembered by such a fair lady," Angelo crooned-- until the Gigantes glared at him, making him sober up immediately.  He certainly didn't need to be making any enemies.

Raya just smirked slightly.  "Well, you're welcome here for as long as you wish to visit. We'll be having the noon meal in an hour's time if you care to join us."  
  
Angelo nodded and thanked her, feeling a little relieved when she and the grumpy Gigantes moved on.  The other monsters were apparently satisfied that he was no threat after they saw him speaking to Raya, and they paid him no further attention.

The last to appear from within the chapel was a small healslime.  Unlike the others, it wasn't too shy or apprehensive to approach Angelo; in fact, it planted itself in front of him and looked up at him openly.

"Hi!" it chirped.  "You're new, aren't you?  My name's Squirt!"

"Mine's Angelo."  He crouched down to better address the little creature.  "I'm just visiting."

"You missed church," the slime said, a little accusingly.  "But you should go meet Marcello-san anyway.  If you ever need to rest in the presence of the Goddess, he can help you."  
  
"I'm sure he can," Angelo muttered.  "Uh. . . Squirt, how long has Marcello been here?  I visited Tryan Gully a couple years ago, but there was an imp who served in the chapel instead."

"Oh, Beez?  He's still here-- Marcello-san is just a lot better at the job than _he_ was!"  The slime gave a decidedly feminine giggle, and Angelo suddenly wondered if she had a crush on Marcello-- she certainly seemed fond of him.  "You must have come before I was born though; I know I've never seen you before!"  Before Angelo could reply, she chattered on, "I've gotta go help with lunch, but you can go on in if you want!  I'll see you later!"

Angelo stood as Squirt floated off.  _So Marcello **does** live here-- gone from practically ruling the world to giving mass for a bunch of monsters.  And he's **good** at it._   Angelo shook his head with a faint, wondering smile.  Then, in spite of everything his better judgment told him, he pushed open the door again and stepped into the chapel.

It had not changed since Angelo had last been inside-- except of course for the fact that instead of an imp, Marcello stood at the chancel, his back to Angelo as he doused the candles arranged there.  
  
"Raya sent you back here, Squirt?" Marcello said in an amused tone at the sound of the door falling closed.  "What is it she says-- too many slimes spoil the broth?"

Everything about him-- his voice, his body, his movements-- was painfully familiar to Angelo and brought back the wash of old emotions the young man had tried to put behind him: the jealousy and animosity, the burning love.  They rose in his throat, hindering his speech for a moment.

"Marcello," Angelo was finally able to say.  He had feared Marcello would somehow gain the upper hand in the encounter, that he would be able to control and manipulate Angelo as in the old days.  All those fears dissolved at the loud clatter arising when Marcello started, knocking over one of the candles.  It fell to the floor, the candle holder crashing loudly on the marble tiles as wax splattered both them and Marcello's sandaled feet.

Marcello turned to face him, green eyes standing out in his pale face.  He had recognized Angelo's voice as easily as the younger man had known his.

"How did you know I was here?"  Marcello's voice sounded hoarse, sharp, so unlike the calm tones Angelo had heard in the service.

"I didn't!" Angelo snapped in reply, hating himself at the same time: he had already allowed Marcello to put him on the defensive, as if Angelo had done something wrong.

"Then why are you here?" retorted Marcello.

Angelo gave a bitter laugh.  "A lunatic told me that my wishes would be granted here."

"Ishmahri," Marcello breathed.

Angelo started.  "You. . . know him?"

"Oh yes."  Marcello was now the one to smile ironically.  "He told you to come here?"

"Yes."

Marcello took a step forward, down off the chancel to stand between the first row of pews, still a distance away from Angelo.  "And. . . he did not tell you I was here?"

" _No!_ "  Angelo almost lost the cool he had managed to gather.  "He didn't even mention you."  Marcello only nodded then, slowly, and Angelo was surprised to realize his brother _believed_ him.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," Angelo went on in a mutter, wishing he had followed his instincts and left the Gully immediately.

"No, wait."  Marcello spoke softly, before Angelo could even turn away.  Angelo gave him a look of blank amazement as the older man moved closer, until only the space of two pews separated them.  His gaze was focused on the tiles below their feet.

"When I sought the way to the Moonshadow Realm, I wished for peace," Marcello said, slowly.  "But that was something even Ishmahri couldn't grant."

"You've found it here though, haven't you?" Angelo interrupted, trying to predict where this unusual conversation was going.

"Don't interrupt," Marcello snapped, flicking his eyes up to meet Angelo's. . . and then, amazingly, his face softened.  The motion was slight, only the faintest relaxing of the tension Angelo had always seen between his eyebrows.  "But yes. . . it is peaceful here."

"Oh, but that isn't the same thing," Angelo interrupted again.

"Ishmahri came here soon after I did," Marcello went on, ignoring him.  "He helped me far more that time."

"Oh?  And what did he tell you?"

Marcello's eyes met his again, wide, brilliant with a mixture of dread and wonder.  "He told me I should confess to you."

". . . to me," Angelo said faintly.  "Why?  Confess what?"

"That I'm sorry."  There was a repose in the once tortured-looking face as he spoke.  "And. . . and that I love you."

Angelo's brain refused to function.  All he could do was gape like a fish at his brother.

"You. . . _what_?" he finally managed.

"I came to love you," Marcello repeated, "in spite of everything.  I always thought it was a bad thing until. . . until Squirt, that little healslime, loved me-- _me,_ of all people."  He gave a faint, wondering laugh, not bitter yet somehow self-reproaching.  "And I learned to love her too.  It's different, of course-- she's like a pet or a child, and you are my. . . my brother."  He sighed heavily.  "I'm sorry for it because it made me want to hurt you all the more.  But there. . . it's done."

Angelo tried to force his stupefied mind to deliver the scathing rebuttal Marcello deserved for coming up with this _now_ , years too late, and expecting it to matter, to make a difference.  But no insult came because it _did_ matter to Angelo-- because for the first time, he felt pure happiness when he looked at his brother's face.

"So is this when I'm supposed to regret saving your life?" Angelo finally responded.  He found himself involuntarily smiling.

Slowly, Marcello echoed the smile, though with a distinct lack of intensity.  "I expect so."

"Marcello. . . this is all I ever wanted from you-- nothing else."  A strange look passed over Marcello's face, as if he were remembering something that both surprised and embarrassed him.  In spite of that, Angelo went to him, reaching out his gloved hands to rest them on Marcello's shoulders.  "I began loving you that one moment you were kind to me, before I knew who you were-- and nothing you did could ever kill that love, as much as I wanted it to die."

Marcello nodded again, still with that look of faint self-reproach.  But then, he lifted his own arms to Angelo, drawing him close into the first embrace they had ever shared.  A warmth filled Angelo's body as he pressed his cheek to Marcello's neck, as his fingers curled in the folds of the older man's robe.

_My brother_ , Angelo thought, even though Marcello had never been a brother to him-- even though he wondered if fraternal love were really meant to feel like this: like the Goddess's emblem branded onto his body against his burning face, across his chest, spiking downward to his groin.  Marcello's lips pressed to his forehead, marking him as well in what Angelo assumed was a blessing.  And then Marcello let him go, stepping back abruptly as if burned by the same fire Angelo felt in his veins.

"Do you want your ring back?" Angelo murmured.  It was something he had always intended to ask Marcello if they met again.  Besides, the question was safer than more talk of love.

"You kept it?"  Marcello seemed truly surprised.

"Yes."  Angelo tugged on the chain about his neck, pulling the ring out from under his shirt.  "I've worn it here since you gave it to me.  It was too big for my fingers."

Marcello smirked slightly.  "Oh yes, you always had such delicate hands."  He looked down at the ring against Angelo's chest, his smirk fading.  "No.  Keep it."

"I'm not a Templar anymore either," Angelo pointed out, "so I certainly don't need _two_ rings."  He bit the fingertip of his glove and pulled his hand free.  He still wore his own red Templar's ring beneath the glove-- out of nostalgia, he supposed-- but he slipped it off now.

"Here," he said around the glove, holding the ring out to Marcello.  Marcello just looked at it at first, but then he reached out his larger hand and held it open, palm up and faintly trembling, while Angelo dropped the ring into it.

Marcello silently put the ring on his smallest finger, then let his hand fall to his side, clenching his fingers slightly.  "Will you stay?"

Before Angelo could reply, he was interrupted by the creak of the chapel door.  He started, flushing senselessly, and looked over his shoulder to see Squirt floating in.

"Marcello-san, lunch is ready!  And you're welcome to eat with us too, Angelo-san!"  She beamed up at him.  "How long are you staying, anyway?"

"I. . . ."  Angelo glanced at Marcello again before turning to face the healslime.  The older man's eyes conveyed, conceded nothing.  _He still can't show warmth to me in front of anyone-- but he's going to have to learn._   "My ship will return in three days," he told Squirt.  "I'll be here until then."

"Excellent!"  She drifted over to Marcello and wrapped two of her tentacles around his bare hand, tugging him toward the door.  "Come on, before greedy old Beez eats it all!"  Marcello let himself be dragged, but he paused beside Angelo, taking his half-brother's arm with his other, ringed hand.

"She's right," Marcello muttered.  "That imp eats more than a Gigantes.  If you want a meal, you should come now."

Angelo nodded and followed them, but his arm still burned even when Marcello's hand had fallen away, as his forehead burned from his brother's kiss.  _This is my wish,_ he thought, _to be at peace with him-- to have his love_.  Angelo supposed Ishmahri had known that, but he wondered if the elf had known _all_ of it: would he have been surprised at the desire Angelo had long suppressed, the reason why he had charmed scores of women without ever finding satisfaction?

Maybe not-- Goddess knew what kind of knowledge lay between those pointy ears.  Maybe Ishmahri himself had wished for something stranger in his long life.

_And maybe he knew all along,_ Angelo thought, _and so he sent me here, to this place where no one knows us or the blood we share. . . where the only things between us are ourselves._

_\--_

The End


End file.
